Dirty Business
by ILoveToChin25
Summary: Au DH. Harry is captured after setting off on his own to find the remaining Horcruxes, and is kept alive for Voldemort's own nefarious games. Draco Malfoy is assigned to look after him, and does so to protect his own self interest. Or does he?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own anything… blah blah blah

CHAPTER ONE

Harry blinked. Though he saw nothing in front of him, not that he expected to, the sensation of closing and opening his eyelids seemed oddly surreal. After all, you don't blink when you're dead. Fuzzily, Harry realized that this was not as comforting as it should have been. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he didn't feel _at peace_ at all and wasn't that what everybody, Muggles and wizards alike, insisted death be like?

Straining to wrap his oddly dilapidated mind around these thoughts, Harry opened his mouth. Only to find that he couldn't.

It was then that the events of the past day rushed back in a dizzying whirlwind, leaving Harry wishing he could go back to thinking he was in the afterlife.

Shortly after arriving at the Weasleys' for Bill and Fleur's wedding, Harry had broken his word to Ron and Hermoine. Enough people had suffered on his behalf; his parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, now even Mad-Eye Moody and Hedwig. He wouldn't allow his two best friends to become his next victims. So Harry had struck out on his own with virtually no clue of where to begin.

How long had he been away? Sometimes hours seemed like days, days like weeks. Honestly he had no idea. Occasionally he found out information, mainly from the feverish episodes accompanying his scar erupting in pain, but what he did learn was useful, though often frustratingly unclear. One particular piece of information continued to plague him, though, and this he'd learned not from Voldemort's scattered thoughts, but the _Daily Prophet_. And no matter how unreliable they were at times, there was no way even Rita Skeeter could have misreported the following headline:

**Severus Snape – New Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!**

Every time Harry thought of Snape sitting sullenly in Dumbledore's chair, greasy hair surely smudging on the pristine wood behind him, his stomach clenched painfully and his blood boiled with fresh anger. Harry had sworn to himself that the first chance he got, Snape would pay. And then, last night, things had gone slightly pear-shaped.

He didn't remember much. One minute he'd been completely alone, and the next, attacked by multiple Death Eaters. And now he was here. Wherever _here_ was.

Breathing steadily through his nose, Harry slowly assessed his situation, or rather what he knew of it. First of all, he was alive, something that seemed completely out of place. Trying not to dwell on his good, or perhaps not so good fortune, Harry attempted to move and found his hands and feet just as tightly restrained as his mouth. And naturally, his wand had been removed from his back pocket. Even though he was far from mastering non-verbal magic, at least with a wand he would have had a chance to release himself, however slight. But, as far as Harry knew, even Dumbledore and Voldemort hadn't mastered the ability to perform wandless magic, so there was little chance of that happening.

At that moment, harsh light suddenly invaded the inky blackness of the room, leaving Harry squinting and blinking rapidly. Eyes watering, he looked towards the source of the light and could make out nothing more than a harsh silhouette against the doorframe, though the features were too obscured for Harry to make out through his blurry eyes.

"Get up, Potter."

The all-too-familiar voice, not to mention the easy use of his last name, left Harry with no question as to who had been sent to retrieve him. Slowly, Draco Malfoy's pale features came into view. Harry narrowed his eyes and gestured towards his bound feet. Strangely refraining from comment, Draco raised his wand and the bindings fell away instantly, not only from Harry's feet, but from his hands and mouth as well. Licking his cracked lips, Harry sat up, glaring at Draco who was beginning to look impatient, shifting from foot to foot and glancing nervously over his shoulder.

"I suggest you hurry," he snapped after a moment, turning away.

Harry followed behind silently. Something about Draco's manner didn't seem right to him. The arrogant Slytherin of the last six years would have been gloating cheerfully given the current situation, but his expression had been anything but triumphant. In fact, Harry wasn't sure what his expression had been. As they walked onwards through the dreary house he wondered darkly if Draco had been taking lessons from Snape on how to hide his emotions.

When at last they stopped, it was outside of two ornately furnished doors that were propped open, but not enough to see inside. Harry's heart thumped painfully in his chest and his stomach flip-flopped several times at the thought of stepping, quite possibly, to his death. Sensing his hesitation, Draco fell into step behind Harry, murmuring quietly as he passed, "He's not going to kill you."

But Harry barely heard Draco's words as he stepped through the threshold and came face to face with a pair of slitted, red eyes.

They stared at each other for several seconds – Voldemort's snake-like face settling into a malicious smile, as Harry felt the blood drain from his face. When Voldemort spoke, his voice was a hissing whisper. "Harry, how nice of you to drop in!"

A short spurt of humorless laughter filled the room, and Harry belatedly realized he was surrounded by Death Eaters, some of whom he immediately recognized: Wormtail, Bellatrix LeStrange, Lucius Malfoy. They all were watching him intently, looks of triumph only outshone by their obvious hunger for Harry's death.

"Glad to oblige," Harry retorted, glaring back into Voldemort's eyes. The Dark Lord's grin slowly faded and he raised his hand, one long skeletal finger outstretched towards Harry's forehead. A strange look came over him as he slowly lowered his finger and Harry forced himself not to flinch away, preparing himself for the pain of contact. But, it didn't come. Abruptly Voldemort turned away, black robes whirling around him and he began circling Harry.

"Do you know why you're still alive, Harry Potter?"

Harry stared straight ahead, unsure of what to say.

"You," Voldemort continued, addressing his followers just as much as Harry, "are going to be my new puppet. Dumbledore had his turn with you. Now it's mine."

Confused, Harry glanced at Voldemort in spite of himself. He had resisted the Imperius Curse before, and would sooner end up like Neville's parents than give in to torture.

"I'd rather die than help you," Harry ground out slowly. Someone shouted and in the next moment he was writhing on the ground, every nerve ending firing simultaneously and resulting in agony.

"Enough," Voldemort said calmly, gesturing at someone. Hazily, Harry realized that one of the Death Eaters, not their leader, had cast the Cruciatus. Shakily, he rose to his feet, muscles still twitching uncomfortably. A coppery taste filled Harry's mouth and he absently spit the blood on the spotless marble floor.

Voldemort looked disdainfully at Harry. "I see Dumbledore didn't teach you very good manners."

"Guess I learned from Snape," he returned coldly.

A slight smile came over Voldemort's features again at the mention of Snape. "Ah, yes, _Professor_ Snape. Ironic isn't it?"

Knowing it was in his best interest to hold his tongue but, as was in his nature, unable to do so, Harry blurted out, "Why didn't he just get it over with, before? Why make Draco do it at all?"

In the corner he lurked in, Draco paled and glared at the ground.

"Harry, Harry," Voldemort scolded in a tone similar to one a parent would use on their child, "My followers are all loyal however… inefficient at times. Young Draco has already been dealt with. And now, your turn has finally come."

"I won't give in! It doesn't matter what you do to me!" Harry shouted, mentally preparing himself for another agonizing writhe on the ground; but this time at least, nothing happened.

Finally having stopped his vulture-like circling, Voldemort spoke suddenly from right behind him, his breath blowing softly on Harry's neck. Harry shivered despite himself.

"Think about it, Harry. What greater blow to the Wizarding world than knowing their wonder-child, the Boy-Who-Lived, has joined up with me?"

Icy fingers worked their way through Harry as Voldemort's suggestion sunk in. It wouldn't matter what he did in terms of resistance. The only thing people on the outside would know was that Harry Potter was with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and that he was still alive. What would they think of him? What would Ron and Hermoine think?

"It'll never work!" Harry said venomously, despite his own doubts. Voldemort laughed softly. It reminded Harry of the sound an animal would make if it were dying.

"No need to worry yourself. You won't be killed. Not now at least." He paused for a few moments. "Now, despite how helpful you're being, Harry, I must set a good example and punish you for your sins."

It was then that the world erupted in a bright rainbow of agony.

**Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

The next time Harry regained consciousness, both the memory of what had happened and the lingering effects returned immediately. His punishment had lasted for hours. When Voldemort had finished with him the other Death Eaters had been more than willing to join in, though the end result regrettably couldn't be death. Several times Harry had passed out, whether from the pain or from the manner of spells they were using he wasn't sure, but each time they'd revived him for a little longer. How he had ended up back on the cold stone floor he couldn't remember though.

Shakily Harry rolled onto his side, groaning slightly as his bruised muscles protested angrily and threatened to cramp again. Swallowing thickly, he waited for the sensation to fade before attempting any further movement. Just then, the sound of a key in the door caught his full attention and filled him with dread. Surely they hadn't come back for a second round so soon.

"I brought you some food," Draco said tonelessly as he entered.

Harry glared up from his position on the ground though he imagined he still looked rather pathetic nevertheless. Draco silently produced a small lamp and a tray and closed the door behind him before crossing his arms and leaning against the far wall. Harry stared openly for a moment.

"You're here to keep me company then?" he asked sarcastically, struggling to sit up.

"I'm here to make sure you don't try something stupid," Draco sneered in return, "like choke on your food."

"I'm more likely to choke from talking to you." Having finally regained a sitting position, Harry leaned his pounding head back against the bricks, willing the nausea welling up in his gut to go away. Right now the idea of eating was the last thing he wanted to do.

After a moment he looked up to find Draco watching him and he felt irrationally angry for his odd silence.

"Isn't this your chance to gloat, Malfoy?" Harry asked, the anger in his voice somewhat abated by pain and weariness. "You finally beat me, after all these years. Happy now?"

Something strange flashed across Draco's features and he turned his gaze away, maintaining his silence.

Confused by the Draco's uncharacteristic composure but too tired to try again, Harry absently picked up the bowl from the tray and stared at it. It may have been soup at some point but now the filmy layer at the top and slightly pungent smell suggested it had been around for a few days at least. Hoping he could stomach it, Harry took a sip and found it wasn't terribly bad. The house-elves at Hogwarts definitely didn't make it but being picky wasn't exactly an option at the moment.

"Your hand is shaking," Draco commented flatly as Harry quickly spooned down the soup. Harry sent him a brief scathing look. Draco continued, "The effects should wear off by tomorrow though."

Harry set the bowl down with a clatter and stood, ignoring the discomfort. "First you escort me to a torture session with Voldemort and your dad and then you bring me soup and tell me everything is going to be okay? I've had you figured out for years, Malfoy, so you might as well drop the act."

Suddenly an odd sensation overcame Harry and he felt his stomach muscles beginning to seize up uncontrollably. He was barely able to lean over before he vomited up everything he'd just eaten. Still the sensation refused to subside and he continued to dry heave for several minutes, only vaguely aware that someone else's hands were the only thing keeping him from collapsing in his own mess.

Slowly Harry became aware of Draco's support but didn't refuse as he helped him move to a clear spot where he lay down. Shivering from a feverish mixture of hot and cold, Harry curled into a ball and glanced up at Draco, unsure of what to say.

Throughout the day Harry continued to sleep fitfully, fever coming and going almost as often as his Slytherin counterpart, who was apparently in charge of keeping him alive. Many things happened, most of which Harry couldn't distinguish between dream and reality, but he was aware of Draco's sensitive care the entire time he remained sick. The only reason that stuck in his muddled mind was the fact that he never would have used the words Draco and sensitive in the same sentence before today.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Days passed, each one much like the previous. Harry would be roused from a fitful sleep curled on the stone floor, then unceremoniously led to face Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Each day, Voldemort would ask him if he was ready to cooperate. Harry was never entirely certain what he was supposed to cooperate with, but every day his answer was an emphatic no. After the inevitable torture session, Harry was vaguely aware of being Levitated back into the dungeons, after which he usually passed out. Waking later, shaking and feverish, his head would snap up for a moment, searching for the now familiar white-blond head. Upon spotting Draco, he would begin to relax slightly, knowing that he would rather have his school nemesis as company than be completely alone.

Today, Harry took longer than usual to wake up. On some level, he was aware of Draco shaking him, yelling at him to wake up, but another part of him wanted nothing more than to drift peacefully into the inky blackness of oblivion.

"Potter!" Draco's voice sharply pervaded through the mist in his mind. "Damn you, Potter, get up!" Suddenly there was a stinging slap across his face, and his eyes fluttered open wearily.

Draco was crouched beside him on the icy floor, his hair falling across his pale, pale face, breathing heavily. "Potter?" he asked cautiously.

Harry managed to sit up painfully, shoving Draco away when he tried to assist him. Draco rocked back on his heels, glaring daggers at Harry.

"You know, you could make this easier on yourself," Draco spat.

"Oh, you mean by sucking up to old Snake Face? Sorry, Malfoy, but I'm not a coward like you are."

Draco rose to his feet, sneering down at Harry in disgust. "Fuck you, Potter. You think I enjoy being your nursemaid? You can die for all I care." As if to prove a point, he kicked Harry sharply in the gut.

Harry recoiled in shock, curling instinctively into a protective ball, his already jumpy nerves shooting random bursts of pain in his abdomen. He began coughing uncontrollably, a hacking rasp which left a spray of blood on the stone floor.

Peripherally, Harry was aware of Draco crouching back at his side, and was too weak to protest when a hand gripped his shoulder. "Oh my god, Potter, I didn't mean it. You can't die, you just can't." Draco's voice sounded strange, and if Harry hadn't known any better, he would almost have believed that Draco was on the verge of tears.

"Just kill me," Harry managed to gasp, feeling his consciousness beginning to fade. He felt Draco's wand pressing his stomach, heard a soft murmur, and sighed in relief as the pain abated slightly.

"Thank you," Harry said softly, not even caring how entirely twisted it was for him to thank his captor. Opening his eyes once again, Draco's pointy features once again came into focus, his face pinched tightly with something akin to worry. Harry's eyes met his briefly, and the expression was quickly schooled into the usual blank look of disdain.

"Don't thank me," Draco said roughly, pulling back from Harry. "Personally, I couldn't care less, but I doubt the Dark Lord would take kindly to you dying on my watch." He regarded Harry for a moment, an unnamable expression on his face. "Are you able to stand?"

Harry doubted it, but nodded anyway, pulling himself shakily to his feet. He swayed slightly, the stone walls whirring around him like a macabre merry-go-round with flashes of white-blond hair. He heard Draco curse under his breath, then felt an arm drape around his shoulders, steadying him. He leaned against Draco gratefully, once again not caring about the perversity of his gratitude.

"Come on, Potter," Draco said after a moment. "He's waiting." Surely it was only Harry's imagination, but something in his longtime enemy's voice sounded distinctly like regret.

* * *

Draco managed to drag Harry up the stairs, stopping occasionally to catch his breath. He felt ribbons of unease tearing through him, a feeling which hadn't left him since the night he was supposed to kill Dumbledore. Victory wasn't supposed to be mingled with guilt, and triumphing over the boy he had hated since age eleven wasn't supposed to be so hollow. It could hardly even be considered a triumph, because triumph was nothing but glory, prestige and power. It didn't look at you with empty green eyes that used to be lit with hatred; it didn't grovel on a filthy stone floor waiting to die. Draco was suddenly struck by a thought; if he could manage to ignite that light again, then maybe all was not lost.

"Hey Potter," Draco whispered silkily as they neared the top of the stairs. "Why don't your friends come and save you? Surely Weasel and your precious Mudblood have thought of some idiotic plan by now?"

He was pleased when Harry angrily shoved his arm off his shoulders. "Don't call her that!" he hissed. Draco almost smiled when Harry, seemingly in a burst of strength, stomped the remainder of the journey unaided.

* * *

"Harry, Harry," Voldemort hissed softly, a cold smile on his reptilian face. "Why must you continue to defy me?"

Harry, in spite of feeling as if he could fall over at any second, managed to smile back. "Well, let's see… maybe because you're insane?"

Harry braced himself for the usual burst of pain, but nothing came. Instead, Voldemort was regarding him with a strangely gleeful look. It took only a moment for Harry to realize why.

Three dementors glided ghostlike towards him, and Harry felt the familiar cold fear grip him. Out of habit, he reached for his wand, but of course it wasn't there.

"You can stop this, you know," Voldemort said icily. He, along with the other Death Eaters were all safely behind a wolf Patronus, which bared its teeth as it prowled back and forth to ward off the dementors.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but found himself paralyzed with fear. The dementors brushed against him with icy fingers, and Harry fell to his knees as his mother's screams filled the air.

"Not Harry!" his mother cried over and over, and all the while Sirius fell through the veil in an endless loop and Dumbledore was struck down again and again by the traitorous Snape.

Harry knew that most prisoners in Azkaban went insane rather quickly, except of course for Sirius, who had been able to take his Animagus form. But unfortunately for Harry, he could no more turn into a dog than a Muggle could turn a teacup into a frog, and he suddenly longed for the welcome release that insanity would surely be.

The dementors lingered around Harry for what felt like hours. For a time he curled into a fetal position on the floor, sobbing bitterly with fear and humiliation. After a while he merely watched the ghostly specters with a vague sort of indifference, the images they conjured no longer filling him with fear. Instead, he felt nothing but a numb apathy, and he wondered if at last, he had gone insane.

Suddenly, the dementors were cast away by someone's Patronus, and a moment later Draco was pulling him back to the dungeons.

Harry allowed himself to be pulled along without a word, finally collapsing onto the hard stones. He shuddered at the loss of human contact, shrinking against the wall.

Draco watched him with a strange expression; his gray eyes almost lost in dark shadows. He raised his wand, and Harry suddenly felt a curious sensation run over his body, almost as if a giant washcloth had brushed over him. Looking down at his hands, he was surprised to see they were no longer coated with grime, and he looked up at Draco questioningly.

Draco shrugged, managing to screw his features into a halfhearted sneer. "I was tired of smelling you, Potter."

Harry simply nodded, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall. He felt a weariness that went down to his bones, and pain that seemed to pulsate with every pump of blood. "Don't leave," he managed to whisper sleepily, and he fell asleep before Draco could answer.

But Draco did leave, for he was nowhere to be found when Harry awoke many hours later. A house-elf brought him food and water later that day, watching him nervously before Disapparating out with a crack.

Harry watched the door anxiously. Surely they wouldn't leave him, would they? Anything, even torture, was better than dying of loneliness. He watched the door until his eyelids grew heavy, and he fell into a fitful sleep, the sounds of his mother's screams still ringing in his ears.

Although Harry had no way to keep track of time, he felt as if a week must have passed in which he had no human contact whatsoever. Once, he found himself yelling at the tiny house-elf to stay and talk to him, and it had stared at him with sad doe-eyes before Disapparating.

The room was so cold, as cold as the dementors' hands had been, and Harry shivered in vain, pulling his legs up to his chest for warmth. He could barely manage to eat without retching, so he merely took small sips of water which tasted metallic against his tongue. He was so weak that even his head felt like a cumbersome weight on his neck, so he gingerly lowered himself to the icy floor, no longer able to keep the tears from leaking out of his eyes. Not that it mattered, as there was no one to see him.

* * *

Draco opened the door cautiously, afraid of what he would see. On Voldemort's orders, everyone was forbidden contact with Harry Potter for three days, and Draco himself had been kept busy with other duties as if to ensure Harry's solitude.

Harry was lying on his side against the wall, his face pressed into an arm. He raised his head weakly, looking at Draco with dull eyes.

"You left," he rasped accusingly, and Draco was shocked to see tears running silently down his filthy face. Years ago, Draco surely would have pointed and jeered, but now he nearly felt like crying himself.

"Yeah," he said, crouching beside Harry's prone form. "I had to. I…I'm sorry."

Harry's shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Draco knew that Harry could not be well, for the Harry Potter he knew would rather serve a small stint in Azkaban than let Draco Malfoy see him in such a moment of weakness.

Draco gently lifted his face, touching a cheek lightly with the back of his hand. The skin felt inflamed, and he drew his hand back in shock. "Shit, Potter. You're burning up." Harry didn't respond, and Draco pulled himself to his feet with a sigh. Immediately, Harry's hand snaked out, clamping around his leg.

"Please don't leave me again," Harry said in a panicked voice.

"I'll be back," Draco replied, surprised at how soothing his own voice sounded. When Harry's grip didn't loosen, he sighed, continuing. "I need to get you a potion for your fever. I promise I'll be back."

Harry's hand dropped, and Draco turned to leave, uneasy thoughts parading in his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Not so long ago Malfoy Manor had been a paragon of class and wealth. The dozens of rooms not used by its three occupants were kept in immaculate condition by the house-elves, casting an almost museum-like appearance to the ancient home and reinforcing the Malfoys' standing through the unnecessary amount of furniture, collectibles, and artifacts kept within their walls. As a boy Draco had spent many long hours ghosting his way through these rooms, the lone child in an even lonelier house. In the dark shadows and dimly lit hallways he had played and pretended to be a great wizard, often resorting to bossing around terrified house-elves for lack of any other play-mates, dreaming of the day he'd be as important as his father. The rare instances he had been allowed into his Lucius' study had come and gone in a flurry of excitement for Draco. He'd absorbed all his young mind could possibly gather, hanging on his father's every word, meticulously learning and filing away every experience into the back of his mind for later use. Through Narcissa's pampering and encouragement, Draco soon felt confident enough to use his status as a Malfoy over others and at age nine, two years before he would begin Hogwarts or Durmstrang, as his parents were still undecided on this point, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were introduced as good pureblood friends for Draco. Though nearly twice his size already, both had obediently fallen into line behind the bossy waifish child, becoming the brawn behind Draco's brains, or as it usually was, his mouth. Now, many years later, Draco felt the lone child again, but more so than ever before. No friends dogged his quiet steps through the previously unoccupied halls; there were no exciting late-night visits with his father to look forward to and no pampering and treats from his mother. But most of all, what Draco missed was something other than people. It was the youthful fervor and anticipation of the future, of all that he could possibly achieve in the years to come. All that filled Draco now was fear and dread.

Passing quickly through the halls, he hoped to draw no attention to himself from the lurking Death-Eaters, spread entirely throughout the Manor, purposefully by Voldemort, he thought, so the Malfoys retained nothing of their previous lifestyle. His family's standing with the Dark Lord, already precarious after his father's imprisonment, had worsened following Draco's failure and he and his parents were often treated like intruders in their own home. So Draco had learned to adopt an action he had never before in his life used. He kept his head down. He avoided confrontations and contact in general unless necessary, and was extremely wary of who was on the receiving end of the snappish comments that he'd previously dealt out on such a regular basis. At Hogwarts the worst possible reprimand he'd received was an occasional detention or docking of House points, maybe an occasional minor hex or jinx when Crabbe or Goyle didn't manage to step ahead in time. But that had been the world of another time. A wrong word now could result in torture, or worse, as far as Draco was concerned, partaking in it himself. Of course to let anyone know he was anything less than thrilled about maiming and killing the unfortunate few brought back to the Manor was hardly an option.

"Going somewhere, young Malfoy?" The high-pitched, oily voice behind Draco made him ball his fists in disgust even as he turned around to face the rat-like face of Peter Pettigrew, or Wormtail as he was more often referred to nowadays. Draco glanced disdainfully at the older wizard, his eyed sliding over the shining silver hand hanging at Wormtail's side. As if he wasn't already creepy and disgusting enough, the magical hand bestowed by Voldemort often twitched and moved on its own accord, seemingly a personality all its own ready to do its master's bidding. At the moment, the metallic fingers lay completely still while his other hand, the real one, tugged persistently at the buttons on his ratty coat.

Draco kept his voice steady but purposefully soft as he replied; there was no need to draw anyone else's attention. "I'm fetching a potion. Is there a problem?"

Wormtail's face contorted into something Draco supposed was a smile. "A potion for Potter? Whatever for?" A strange glint had appeared in his dead-looking eyes that Draco did his best to ignore.

"It's so he won't die," Draco snapped, hoping Wormtail would be satisfied enough with the answer to leave him alone.

"You know," Wormtail said, taking a slow step closer to Draco who barely managed not to retract himself in revulsion, "If you ever get tired of taking care of him, I'd be more than happy to take over…"

The sleazy, suggestive comment left Draco feeling physically sick and he took a step back despite himself, crossing his thin arms across his chest and glaring.

"I'm going to pretend I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Draco ground out, no longer attempting to mask the disdain in his voice.

Wormtail's grotesque smile widened, apparently having anticipated Draco's reaction. "Or maybe you've already been taking care of your young Gryffindor friend. I always did get that vibe from you after all."

Draco paled in anger and spun around, no longer caring if he pissed Wormtail off even as his jeering chuckles followed him down the hall.

"You know I used to be a Gryffindor too!" Wormtail called after him, trotting to catch up with Draco's long strides. Ignoring him, the younger man continued his quick pace but suddenly a hand clamped his arm and spun him around forcefully.

Draco pushed the hand off in disgust, sneering as he drew himself to his full height. He was at least six inches taller than Wormtail, but as he'd been a small child, he'd learned to use every inch to intimidate, and he did so now, leering down at the grotesque man as he'd seen his father do so many times to those he considered his inferiors.

"Don't fuck with me, Wormtail," he spat vehemently, noting with delight that the smaller man shrunk away. Draco smiled coldly, taking a step closer. "I can make things very bad for you, very quickly."

Wormtail's rodent-like face twitched, his eyes watering slightly. Then a gleam came into his eyes, and he smiled, revealing his sharp, yellow teeth.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Master Draco," he said with a faux bow, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "I just find your concern for Potter a little strange, that's all."

"It's not concern for Potter," Draco snapped. "The Dark Lord entrusted me with keeping him alive, and I intend to do so."

Wormtail's revolting smile never wavered. "Whatever you say. Just keep my offer in mind." He gave Draco a last meaningful look, licked his lips, and then turned around to leave.

Feeling almost physically dirty from his exchange with the vile man, Draco continued down the long hallway, passing countless generations of Malfoy photos as he walked. They were silent as he walked by, knowing a true Malfoy when they saw one, but Draco hoped that they jeered at their unwelcome guests.

A moment later, having quickly perused through Snape's potion supplies in order to find a suitable potion, Draco at last made his way uninterrupted back to the dungeons.

Harry had not moved from where he'd left him, and was so still that for a moment Draco feared he was dead. He would wonder later at the brief panic that had clutched him like a vice, but would finally feel satisfied that it was merely self-preservation. After all, the Dark Lord certainly wouldn't take kindly to him failing a task for the second time.

"Potter?" Draco asked cautiously, feeling an insane amount of relief when the dark head raised shakily, a slight smile gracing the chapped lips.

"You came back," Harry said softly, lowering his head back to his arms.

Draco approached him cautiously, dropping to his knees beside him. "I told you I would." His eyes darted quickly over Harry's frail form, and he was startled to feel a wave of protectiveness wash over him as he recalled Wormtail's lewd suggestions. He clenched his jaw in anger. Potter was his and his alone, and had been since they had met in a robe shop at age eleven. He still hated him, of course, but he was his to hate, and he would kill that sick fuck Wormtail if he dared to touch him.

Draco sat against the wall next to Harry, muttering a quick warming spell to heat the frigid air. He placed his hands on Harry's shoulders, pulling him gingerly to lie against Draco. Harry was too weak to protest, and his head lolled against Draco's chest, eyes closing with a soft sigh. Draco pulled the potion from his robe pocket, carefully tilting Harry's head as he removed the stopper. Prying Harry's mouth open with a finger, he poured the bottle's contents into his mouth, hurriedly clamping his jaw shut and tilting his head upright. Harry shuddered, thrashing slightly in surprise, then leaned bonelessly back against Draco, his eyes closing once again.

Thinking Harry was asleep; Draco was surprised to hear him speak a moment later. "Draco?"

Startled both by the use of his first name and at hearing Harry's voice, Draco asked shakily, "What?"

"Stay? Please?"

Draco nodded, then remembering Harry couldn't see him said, "Yeah. I'll stay."

Harry sighed with relief and his breathing changed a moment later, signifying his unconsciousness. Draco sat there stiffly for a moment, an unnamable emotion threatening to choke him, then, draping an arm possessively over Harry, fell asleep himself.

Author's Note: Please review! Pretty please?


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Hours later Harry awoke, considerably more lucid than last time and once again alone. He vaguely recalled being fed a potion and then something about Draco holding him… Harry shook the idea off immediately. The last lucid moment he could recall of Draco was far from coddling, as it involved his boot and Harry's stomach. As strangely out of character as he'd been acting, the Draco Malfoy that Harry knew would never lower himself to the level of his victims, and would sooner eat slugs than maintain any unnecessary contact with his arch-rival of the past seven years.

Having no reason to get up, Harry gingerly rearranged himself in an attempt to relieve his aching muscles, relieved to find no sharp bursts of pain accompanying the small movements. Although he doubted the relief would last long, he was thankful for the brief respite to normalcy. Well, as much normalcy as could be expected while lying half-starved and beaten in a dungeon. Nonetheless, this was the first time in days that the thought of lifting his head sounded vaguely plausible.

Closing his grainy eyes and concentrating deeply, Harry tried to remember anything more about the last few days, anything that could possibly be beneficial in the future, but hazy memories of lying on the floor crying and begging left him feeling number than before. Had it really happened? Had they finally broken him? Harry blinked into the darkness. No. The only person he could remember seeing him like that was Draco. And it had been Draco who'd given him a potion that had restored his health immensely.

As if conjured by thought, the door suddenly swung open to reveal Draco. Harry's eyes immediately narrowed in distrust, scanning briefly over his rival. The other boy was paler and thinner than he remembered him being, and Harry wondered if he could physically overtake him before Draco had a chance to get to his wand, which Harry could then use to get out of the whole mess.

Draco stared back at him, his eyes clouded and inscrutable. "How are you feeling?" he asked flatly.

Harry gave an indignant snort. "As if you care."

Draco's eyes flashed angrily, like a bolt of lightning over a Quidditch pitch. "About you? You're right, I don't. But seeing as it's my neck on the line if anything happens to you, I'm your best bet at staying alive, Potter." He stalked over to Harry, setting a tray down with a clatter, his lip curling into its perpetual sneer. But beneath that familiar expression, Harry could see another one; fear. Draco was truly afraid for himself, and in a flash of insight Harry knew exactly how he could use that fear to his advantage.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked tentatively. On his way to the door, Draco stopped, shoulders stiffening before turning around.

"What?" he demanded sharply. The dungeon shadows cast eerie shadows over his features, making him appear ghostlike.

"To tell the truth, I actually don't feel that great," Harry said softly, trying to add a slight tremor to his voice. Green eyes met gray eyes imploringly, and after a moment Draco sighed in resignation, crouching beside Harry.

"What is it, exactly?" he asked quietly, his voice surprisingly gentle. He placed an icy hand on Harry's forehead, fingers grazing Harry's scar, and Harry shivered at the contact. He made eye contact with Draco, and for a moment couldn't figure out what was missing from the expression, something that had existed since he had refused his hand in first year. It took him a moment to put a word to it; malice. Draco's eyes, for the briefest of moments were completely unguarded, and Harry was momentarily taken aback, feeling as if he were seeing a stranger. Harry's hand surreptitiously snaked into the pocket of Draco's robes, all the while maintaining the disconcerting eye contact. Finally, his hand closed over Draco's wand, and he clutched it fiercely before whipping it out and pointing it at Draco's chest.

Draco's eyes widened in shock for a moment, and just as quickly as it had appeared, the moment of raw expression on his face was gone, replaced by a murderous gleam.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry yelled, not even thinking of how appropriate of a spell it was to use on Draco, who had used it himself on Harry less than a year ago.

Draco immediately fell back, stiff and unmoving. His eyes, however, glared venomously at Harry, trudging up memories of Basilisks and other creatures that could kill with a single look. He shook off the thought in a moment, quickly pulling himself to his feet, reveling in the feeling of being helpless no longer.

"I'm going to remove this spell from you in a second, Malfoy," Harry said as calmly as he could muster. "But if you try anything funny, I'll do it again. Blink twice if you think you can handle that."

Draco, looking as though he could kill him, closed his eyes once, then twice.

"Finite Incantatem," Harry whispered, keeping the stolen wand trained steadily on Draco.

"Fuck you, Potter," Draco said immediately, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. "What do you plan on doing? They'll never let you escape."

Ignoring Draco's comments, Harry asked, "Is it possible to Apparate out of here?"

Draco gave him a cold smile. "My father put anti-Disapparation jinxes all over the mansion. Dark Lord's orders. But you're welcome to try, Potter. Seeing you splinch yourself would be wonderfully amusing. "

Harry's wand hand faltered slightly, but he had been expecting something like this. "Where is the nearest spot where Apparation is possible?"

"The gardens." Draco threw his head back arrogantly, giving him a poised, patrician glare. "I hope you know that there are Death Eaters all over. You'll never get out of here."

"Well, I'm going to fucking try!" Harry snapped. "And if I die in the process, at least I'll die fighting, instead of sniveling around here like a bloody coward!"

"Spoken like a true Gryffindor," Draco drawled with a sardonic smile. "But when you die, Potter, what then will save the world from impending doom? What purpose could your death possibly serve?"

Now it was Harry's turn to smile coldly. "You're just scared that I will die, aren't you, Malfoy? Because then you'll have failed at a second task, and Voldemort won't be too happy with you, will he? You know what, Malfoy? You're pathetic. At least Voldemort and the others, as sick and twisted as they are, aren't cowards. But you…you're just like Wormtail. Too scared to make any sort of stand, so you just do what's easiest."

Draco's features twisted in hatred. "You should be glad I don't have my wand, Potter," he spat vehemently. "Pathetic, am I? Well, you're an idiot, and as usual you have no idea what you're talking about. You're just like Dumbledore with your sunny idealism, only seeing the world in black and white. I have news for you, Potter; the world is gray, and unlike you, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to survive."

"Then why couldn't you kill Dumbledore?" Harry asked softly.

"Because," Draco snapped. "It wasn't fair, he didn't even have a wand. I was taught better etiquette than that."

Harry scrutinized Draco carefully, noting the quickening of his choppy breaths. Noticing Harry's sudden appraisal, Draco whipped his head to the side, pale hair obscuring his eyes.

"Well, are you going to go or not?" Draco asked stiffly. "Since apparently you have a death wish, you might as well get on with it."

"You could come with me," Harry said in a sudden rush, feeling a strange pity for this shadowed version of his nemesis. After all, whatever Draco was, he didn't deserve whatever punishment Voldemort would surely dole out to him for letting Harry escape. It was what Dumbledore would have done, Harry thought.

"Don't be stupid," Draco smirked, yet something strange flashed momentarily across his face. "Now stun me or something, so it doesn't look as if I just let you walk out of here."

His chest feeling strangely tight, Harry nodded, and with a quick murmur, Stupified Draco. Draco fell back, looking oddly peaceful on the dungeon floor. Harry had the most ridiculous urge to brush the hair out of his eyes, but luckily the moment passed, and he moved to the dungeon door. He gave one last regretful look towards his fallen schoolmate, then spelled open the door.

The dungeon door swung open in a flourish, and Harry took a tentative step towards the stairwell, thinking wistfully about his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map. He tiptoed to the first step, listening for a moment for the telltale sounds of footsteps. Hearing nothing, he crept cautiously up the stairs, cringing at the hollow echoes that resounded with each step. But of course, they would be expecting Draco to make his way up the stairs at any moment, so hopefully they wouldn't even notice the sound of his footsteps. But nonetheless, Harry experienced a sharp wave of relief as he reached the top of the stairs and saw nothing but the usual vast corridors and museum-like artifacts. Perhaps the Death Eaters had left for a raid? Whatever the case, in spite of his pounding heart Harry felt surprisingly light. Freedom was only a matter of steps away, and if he played his cards right, he'd be back with Ron and Hermione within the hour.

Keeping Draco's wand outstretched, Harry crept silently down a polished corridor, passing countless generations of Malfoy portraits in the process. A few looked at him snidely, reconfirming Harry's suspicions that the Malfoys had always been arrogant prats.

A door on his right suddenly swung open, and he all but collided with Avery.

"Watch it!" Avery snapped, stepping back. Then a light of realization came into his eyes, and his hand quickly went for his wand.

But Harry was faster, and without even a thought he Stupified the Death Eater. Avery fell back with a loud thump, and Harry felt a moment of panic at the sound. But when no one came running to investigate, Harry continued, this time with a heightened sense of urgency.

Rounding the corner, he nearly collided with another figure, and it took his muddled brain a moment to realize he'd nearly stunned a suit of armor. Nearly laughing in relief, he looked around for a moment to get his bearings.

Seeing a swinging door further down the hall, Harry made his way toward it, hoping it was the kitchens. If that was the case, then surely there would be nothing more to contend with than a few frightened house elves, and likely a door leading to the outside…

Harry began walking toward the door, and upon reaching it, peaked cautiously through the window. Sure enough, it was the kitchens, and at the moment they appeared to be deserted save for a tiny house elf. She gave a great squeak when Harry plowed into the kitchen, her small body trembling.

"Is there a door out of the kitchens?" Harry demanded roughly to the frightened creature.

"Tilly wishes she could show Harry Potter the door," she said, tears bubbling into her eyes. At that admission her eyes widened, and she picked up a rolling pin and began beating herself over the head. "Bad Tilly, bad!"

Feeling a wave of pity for the miserable creature, Harry quickly wrenched the rolling pin from her hands. She gave a great cry, throwing herself at his feet and thrashing like a child throwing a tantrum.

"Stop, please!" Harry cried. Feeling helpless as the poor house elf began beating its head against the floor, he said, "Master Draco said that you're too listen to me."

The elf stopped thrashing, raising its head. There was snot and blood covering its face, and in that moment Harry agreed entirely with Hermione's S.P.E.W. movement.

"Master Draco said?" it asked with a sniff.

"Yeah," Harry said quickly, feeling a slight stab of guilt at the punishment which would likely be enacted against the elf. "And I'd very much like it if you showed me the door leading outside. Please."

The house elf nodded, rising wearily to its feet. "Oh, Tilly is a very bad elf," she said squeakily, her lower lip trembling. "But Tilly is scared of the bad wizards that live in her house, and Tilly has heard that Harry Potter will get rid of the bad wizards." Tears leaked out of her eyes at this admission, and Harry had to grab her to prevent her from sticking her head in the oven.

"I will, Tilly," Harry said gently, keeping hold of her wiggling shoulders. "Just show me the door."

She nodded, and trembling, led him into a well-stocked pantry. "There's the door, Harry Potter," she said with a wavering lip, pointing under a pantry shelf. Harry squinted for a moment, seeing nothing but a plain wall, then as if out of thin air, a door handle materialized.

"Don't hurt yourself, Tilly," Harry said with as much authority in his voice as he could muster. The house elf burst into tears once again, but nodded.

Crouching down to the elf-sized door, Harry pulled back the handle, sticking his head out cautiously. He was surprised to discover that it was night, and he gave a great sigh of relief as the cool air brushed his face. He was free.

Sliding through the small door, Harry picked himself off the ground, not even bothering to brush off the odd assortment of twigs and leaves which now clung to him. The stars twinkled like fireflies above him, as if they were happy for him.

But he wasn't quite free, so he was still cautious as he briskly walked to what appeared to be the gardens. His path was unhindered, and he estimated perhaps twenty more steps lay between him and the ability to Apparate out of Malfoy Manor. He was counting down the steps in his head when suddenly he was struck down from behind, and he fell forward in shock.

"Going somewhere, Harry," Voldemort's icy voice asked.

Finding he could still move, Harry spun around in a flurry of movement. "Expelliarmus!" he yelled, the stolen wand pointed directly at Voldemort.

Voldemort blocked the spell effortlessly, gliding towards him with a cold smile.

"Oh, Harry, when will you learn?" he asked softly.

Trembling in rage, Harry pointed the wand again, suddenly unleashing a barrage of spells. Voldemort deflected them lazily, without a word. Then with a snarl he disarmed Harry, leaving him helpless once again.

Voldemort made a low hissing noise as he carefully inspected Draco's wand. "You won't be needing this anymore," he said quietly.

Peripherally, Harry was suddenly aware of movement to his left, and he felt a wave of dread as he saw the approaching group of Death Eaters.

"Look, Harry, we have guests," Voldemort said with a cold smirk. "I'll expect you to be on your best behavior, nothing less."

"Fuck you," Harry said between gritted teeth.

Bellatrix Lestrange, who had been leading the group forward, gave a snarl. "How dare you?" she asked with a maniacal glint in her eyes. "You son of a Mudblood bitch!" Harry's world suddenly became one of fiery pain once again, and he clutched his knees to his chest as a silent scream issued from his lips.

"Enough, Bella," he was dimly aware of Voldemort saying, and just as suddenly as it had began, the pain which made him wish only for death was gone, and he stared at Voldemort in surprise. A group had flanked around him, including Snape, whose greasy hair hung in lank curtains around his inscrutable features, and Lucius Malfoy.

"But, my Lord," Bellatrix said pleadingly, her voice trembling slightly. "He should pay for speaking to you in such a manner."

"And pay he will," Voldemort said with a slight hiss. Harry suddenly felt a disconcerting slithering feeling move over him, and he gave a startled start when he realized it was Nagini. The enormous snake twined around Harry's body, its tongue flicking sickeningly over his neck.

"But first, I have a little demonstration for our young friend, here," he smiled again, a strange expression on a man who resembled a lizard. His gaze wavered slightly, and Harry followed it, feeling a rush of disgust as he realized what he was looking at.

Fenrir Greyback walked into the circle, his arms clutched tightly around a terrified Draco. Lucius Malfoy's lip twitched slightly, but he did nothing.

"My Lord," Fenrir said in his gravelly voice. "Can't this one be mine? He smells delicious…" he sniffed Draco's hair with a satisfied smile which revealed his rotten teeth. Even from where Harry lay crouched on the ground he could smell Greyback's revolting smell, a mixture of decaying meat and body odor. The sight turned Harry's stomach, and he caught Draco's eyes briefly in a silent apology. Draco met his gaze unflinchingly, his face betraying little emotion.

"You really are my most enthusiastic servant, Fenrir," Voldemort replied coldly. "But alas, this boy, while he certainly deserves to be punished for his failure, can still be of use. Release him."

Greyback gave Draco's hair one last sniff, his tongue brushing briefly over Draco's pale neck. Draco closed his eyes as if in prayer, his body tensing visibly. Finally, Greyback released Draco from his grip, bowing slightly to Voldemort before backing away.

"Now, who would like to administer punishment to our young friend?" Voldemort's snake-eyes swept slowly around the circle, then he smiled, a malicious glint in his eyes. "How about you, Lucius?" he asked softly.

"My Lord?" Lucius asked, a slight tremor in his voice.

"Is there a problem, Lucius?"

Lucius shook his head, his lips pursed tightly, taking slow steps towards his son. Draco's expression gave nothing away, and he watched his father's approach in a seemingly detached manner. Lucius raised his wand, his hand trembling ever so slightly.

"Get on with it," Voldemort hissed.

Lucius nodded, his face hardening. "Crucio!" he screamed, and Draco fell on the ground in twitching agony. Amazingly, no sound issued from his lips even as they opened in a silent scream and his eyes pinched shut painfully tight.

A brief nagging thought filled Harry's head as he recalled the lesson about the Cruciatus Curse he'd learned following his unsuccessful attempt at it two years previous; you had to really mean it. You had to want to hurt someone solely for the sake of hurting them, and if not, nothing happened. Or so he'd thought. From the sight before him, Harry knew neither Malfoy junior or senior were faking at cause and effect, but perhaps Lucius was restraining himself nonetheless. Draco was still his son after all. If not, then Draco must have had an obscene amount of self-control, because the several times Harry had been on the receiving end of Lucius' wand silence had hardly been an option.

Several tense moments passed before Lucius Malfoy lowered his arm, dispassionately eyeing his son on the ground. He took a step backwards into the corner, gracefully lowering himself to a chair. For the briefest of seconds an almost pained look seemed to cross his face, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"Young Draco," Voldemort hissed, gliding towards him slowly. Draco had managed to drag himself into a half-sitting position, thin shoulders still shuddering slightly, but his eyes remained steadfastly on the ground.

"How exactly did Harry get out of his room? Surely it wasn't sloppiness on your part, was it?" Voldemort tsked and glanced meaningfully toward Harry.

Harry swallowed nervously. While he was far from enjoying seeing his former schoolmate tortured, he was also relieved that, for once, he was not the center of their attentions. He doubted if that would remain the case for much longer, though.

Voldemort's red eyes slid back to Draco and narrowed slightly, becoming more snake-like than before. "How could a boy who's been tortured and starved for several days possibly over-power you, Draco? And, from what a house-elf tells me, he was practically threatening it for company the other day. No offense, Harry, but it doesn't sound like you were doing so well down there." A few Death Eaters chuckled jeeringly from the shadows.

Somehow, Harry miraculously managed to clamp his mouth shut from comment.

"Look at me!" Voldemort barely flicked his wand and Draco's head snapped sharply up, pulling almost higher from his body that his current position allowed. His pale eyes were narrowed in pain, but remained shuttered of all emotion as he unwittingly stared into Voldemort's eyes. In the dancing shadows and candlelight of the room, Harry thought he looked like a frail obscene puppet, held up solely by his master's strings.

For a moment nothing seemed to happen, and Harry used this to glance subtly around the room. His eyes came to rest on Snape. He'd almost forgotten the Potion-Master's presence until now, but a fresh rush of anger and disgust welled up in Harry's chest. If only he still had Malfoy's wand… it would all be over with in a few seconds.

_And then you'd be over with too, you idiot._ Harry sighed softly at his inner-Hermione playing its part in his thought-process. God, he missed her and Ron.

Something seemed odd about the intensity of Snape's gaze on Draco, something Harry couldn't quite place and, as if in response to Harry's stare, Snape glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. He scowled, looked away, and then did something completely deranged as far as Harry was concerned. He smiled. It was more of a skin-cracking grimace than anything, but a smile nonetheless.

Draco suddenly took a pained gasp and Harry dragged his gaze back to him. Having apparently been released from his unnatural pose, Draco was now curled in on himself, hands clutching his head in a vice-like grip and shivering incessantly.

Abruptly, Harry realized what had just happened. The reason for his many failed lessons with Snape as a 5th-Year and the source of many gentle and not-so-gentle reminders in the years afterwards; Harry had just witnessed one of the most skilled wizards in history using Legilimens against a seventeen year-old who hadn't even taken his NEWTS yet. Perhaps Draco knew some Occlumency though, as that would explain that almost proud smile on Snape's sallow features. At the moment, Harry didn't stop to ponder how strange Snape's being proud of Draco's possible resistance seemed as Voldemort redirected his attention.

He turned to Harry, a strangely calm and almost pleased look on his deformed face. Suddenly Harry wished he'd learned Occlumency when he still had the chance.

"Have you ever heard the expression, don't bite the hand that feeds you, Harry?" He raised an eyebrow at Harry's haughty expression.

"You know," he continued, "I could have assigned one of my more… enthusiastic servants to look after you. Fenrir for example was more than willing to partake in your company."

Harry willed himself not to look into the werewolf's direction who was no doubt drooling on himself at the thought.

"But," Voldemort gestured with his wand to Draco's rather pathetic form, "I chose to be a merciful lord and allow you one familiar face."

"We weren't exactly bosom buddies," Harry snapped, feeling somewhat foolish as soon as he'd said it. Obviously Voldemort would've known about their history.

Voldemort smiled slightly and inclined his head in agreement. "Apparently you still aren't. Even after all he's done for you."

Harry practically gaped. "All he's done?" he said angrily. "He's kept me locked up in a dungeon, fed me moldy bread, and escorted me to my daily torture sessions! I must have been unconscious during the bonding experiences during all that, I guess."

Voldemort's smile only widened at Harry's reaction. "He also healed you several times, even relieved you of your filth at one point, from what I just saw. And that potion he gave you was hardly necessary for your survival. A simple spell to alleviate your symptoms would have sufficed." Voldemort's voice lowered and became more intense as he continued. "He's been protecting you from others in this Manor during your more vulnerable states. And then you curse him and flee giddily out the front door, not a care in the world for what might happen to your Slytherin counterpart."

Throughout his speech, Harry had begun to feel more and more like shit as he stubbornly acknowledged the truth behind Voldemort's words. All he wanted him to do was just shut up…

"Potter doesn't care about any Slytherins," Draco sneered softly in a rather strained voice from where he still lay half curled on the ground. "He wrote us all off at age eleven- when I offered to be his friend."

Voldemort whistled slightly between his teeth. "How interesting. Why do you hate Slytherins so much, Harry? Do be careful with your answer since you're in a room full of them."

Even though Harry had no desire to answer at the moment, he was interrupted by Snape's soft musing, "Maybe it's because he knows he should've been one."

Harry's blood suddenly felt like ice in his veins. How could he possibly know that? But wait, maybe Snape had seen that memory during their lessons. Harry didn't have time to contemplate as Voldemort laughed outright.

"What a marvelous idea!" he whirled around, his robes flowing like dark wings around him. "You and I, Harry, really have so much in common. It truly is a wonder you weren't put in Slytherin. You are such a prime example of one, after all."

"I'm nothing like you! Or any Slytherin!" Harry shouted, surging to his feet. His height was still less that that of Voldemort, but he could at least glare at him directly. His anger failed to abate as Voldemort looked more amused than ever with him.

"A Gryffindor then? I think not. A true Gryffindor would never just stand back and watch someone take the punishment for them."

Before Harry had barely absorbed the words, Voldemort had pointed his wand at Draco and muttered _Crucio_ once more. This time Draco screamed.

Harry stared helplessly as his schoolmate thrashed agonizingly about on the marble floor. Nearly half a minute passed without him being released, and Harry sickeningly realized Voldemort did not intend to let go. In fact, as he glanced at Harry's face, the slitted red eyes narrowed as he increased the curse's intensity. Draco's cries turned into choked sounds of agony even as his body's movements seemed to weaken, and Harry knew from experience he was close to passing out.

"What the fuck do you want me to do?!" Harry screamed, tears pricking the back of his eyes. It didn't matter who Draco was, that he was a Slytherin, no one deserved this.

For an agonizing moment Voldemort seemed too absorbed to notice Harry, but suddenly he lowered his wand and stared at the half-conscious sobbing boy on the floor before him.

"Nothing," he said softly, his voice practically a purr of pleasure. "I expected you to look out for yourself, not anyone else. And that's exactly what you did… like any other Slytherin."

Harry swallowed back angry tears as Voldemort leaned in close to him.

"Not so different at all, are we, Harry?"

Harry shivered at Voldemort's close vicinity, managing to train his expression into a very Draco-like glare.

"You're wrong," he managed to spit between gritted teeth. "I'm nothing like you."

Voldemort simply smiled coldly, an oddly satisfied expression on his reptilian face. "Ah, time will tell, Harry. Time will tell." His gaze flickered back to Draco, who apparently had passed out, his face white and pinched.

"Lucius," Voldemort said softly. "If you would kindly escort your son to his room. Surely your wife will be relieved to find him in good health." His lips twisted into a cruel smile at this.

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius said meekly, walking to Draco's side and Levitating him.

"And Lucius?" Voldemort said in a quiet hiss. "I'll expect a private meeting with the boy in the morning, along with his continuance of his duties."

Lucius nodded, his lips pursed and face devoid of color. Without a word he began walking back towards the Manor, Draco's unconscious form trailing eerily behind him.

Harry watched them leave, his throat feeling as though he had swallowed shards of glass. Having been at the receiving end of the Cruciatus Curse more times than he cared to remember, he knew that Draco would still be in horrible pain in the morning. Apparently Voldemort's sadism knew no bounds, even towards his own.

As if reading Harry's thoughts, Voldemort hissed, "You did it to him, Harry. The one person who was willing to bend the rules for you, who cared enough to make you comfortable. And look how you repaid him…" Voldemort's voice trailed off in an amused chuckle.

Not trusting himself to speak, Harry shook his head.

"I wonder," Voldemort continued, "if you'll receive such exemplary treatment from young Draco anymore." He paused slightly, a seemingly thoughtful look in his slitted eyes before smiling icily.

"Severus," he said, beckoning the bat-like wizard forward. Snape stepped forward without a word, his face devoid of expression, save for a glitter of malice when his black eyes swept over Harry.

"Yes, my Lord," Snape said in his whispery voice.

"In the absence of our young friend, I think it would be quite the bonding experience if you would kindly escort Harry back to his…accommodations."

"As you wish, my Lord." Turning his attention to Harry, Snape's lip twisted slightly in disgust. Harry glared back, murderous thoughts of revenge stampeding through his head. If only all things were equal, and he would bash Snape's greasy head against the dungeon walls before leaving him to starve. The thought was enough to calm him slightly, and he willed his breathing to slow.

"Come then, Potter," Snape snapped, his robes flourishing around him as he began walking towards the mansion, apparently so confident of Harry's compliance that he didn't even bother to look behind. Seeing little other choice, Harry followed dejectedly behind his hated teacher, Dumbledore's murderer.

Snape said nothing until they began walking down the steps to the dungeon, then he turned around slightly, a cruel gleam sparkling in his eyes.

"You're just a failure all around, aren't you, Potter?" Snape said softly, a malicious smile twisting his features. "I've always known you would amount to nothing, and I'm delighted that you continue time and again to prove me right."

His fists balling furiously, Harry resisted taking the bait, as he knew it was exactly what Snape wanted.

"I never knew what Dumbledore saw in you, Potter," Snape continued disdainfully. "Mediocre in every way, too arrogant to even bother trying to learn."

"Shut up about him!" Harry shouted, unable to help himself. He considered for a moment pushing Snape down the stairs, but then the greasy git would probably turn into a bat or something.

Snape stopped momentarily, turning to face Harry with a twisted smile. "Strikes close to home, does it, Potter?"

"Yeah, maybe because you murdered him, you traitorous coward!" Harry felt rage that only Snape could induce crashing in his head like ocean waves. "How could you? He was the only person in the world who thought you were more than a disgusting git, the only person who gave a flying fuck about you, and you killed him!" Harry's voice shook, and he grasped the stair railing for balance, feeling slightly lightheaded.

Snape said nothing, his expression more closed than ever. Finally, he sneered in disgust, leaning dangerously close to Harry. Harry shrunk back instinctively.

"As usual, your less than astute observations display your inadequate intellect, Potter. You know nothing," he spat, and in a flurry of robes continued down the stairs. They reached the dungeon in a matter of moments, and Snape spelled the door open with a violent brandish of his wand.

"Get in," he said sharply, and Harry obeyed, albeit with a pointed look of hatred towards Snape.

"What goes around comes around, Snape," Harry said harshly, sitting against the wall. "Soon Voldemort will get tired of you, and he'll kill you just like you killed Dumbledore. And you know what? I'll laugh, and if he wants, I'll even help."

Snape simply smiled, his lips drawn back to reveal his yellowing teeth. "We'll see, Potter. In the meantime, you may want to use your excess free time to do something you obviously never do; think. Inept though your mind is, perhaps the countless hours will allow a modicum of intelligence to seep into even your idiotic skull." His beetle-black eyes glittered mercilessly, and he shrugged slightly. "But probably not. Sweet dreams then, Potter." Snape swirled out of the room, the door clanging hollowly behind him. Harry glared at the door long after he'd left, marveling slightly that no one, not even Voldemort himself, had the ability to make him drown in hatred the way that Severus Snape did.

Author's Note: Please, please review! Seriously, nothing is more discouraging than seeing all the hits to this story and only a couple of people taking the time to review. And reviews make us write faster…the more reviews, the more tricks we'll turn. Just like whores ;)


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Hours later, Harry was roused out of sleep by the clattering sound of the door opening and closing. Draco stood there shakily, extremely pale and looking as if he could fall over at any moment.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked cautiously, feeling in many ways responsible for Draco's weakened state.

"Stay where you are!" Draco said sharply, brandishing his wand and pointing it unsteadily towards Harry, wincing slightly at the precise movement. Without a word, he levitated a tray of food beside Harry, allowing it to land with a crash.

"I never wanted him to hurt you," Harry blurted. Draco's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed suspiciously.

"Whatever, Potter," he sneered nastily. "What do you care, anyway? I'm pathetic, remember?"

"No, you're not," Harry said softly. "Dumbledore seemed to think you were worth saving, and so do I."

For a miniscule moment, the unguarded expression which Harry had witnessed before flittered across Draco's pale features, but then just as quickly was twisted into a glare of disdain.

"Spare me," Draco spat angrily. "The great Harry Potter wants to save me, is that it? Well, fuck you, Potter. I don't want or need your pity." Swaying slightly, he closed his eyes briefly, his wand still pointed shakily at Harry.

Pulling himself to his feet, Harry crept cautiously to his side. "Malfoy?"

Draco's response was lightning quick. In a flash of movement he had straightened himself upright, wand pointed steadfast at Harry's chest.

"Don't come any closer!" he snarled, then with a slight twitch he doubled over, hands on his knees, coughing.

Immediately, Harry was at his side, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. Draco flinched away violently.

"Just stay away from me!" Still coughing, he fell to his knees, all the while attempting to keep his wand trained at Harry. "I mean it, Potter," he said with a groan. Another convulsion shook his body, and retching, he became sick on the stone floor.

"You need to rest, Malfoy," Harry said softly, approaching Draco cautiously.

Seeing Harry's approach, Draco shook like a leaf. "No shit, Potter," he managed to grind out between retches. "But thanks to you, that's not really an option."

Harry crouched silently beside Draco as he became sick twice more, barely holding himself up with arms so wobbly they appeared to be made out of jello. Head hanging tiredly between his shoulders, Draco shuddered and bit his lip to keep from moaning before glancing at Harry, a wary glint present in his eyes.

"Do you not understand the words 'back off'?"

Shrugging slightly, Harry stood but didn't back up. "Fine. Just trying to return the favor."

Harry expected at least a sneer out of Draco from that, but the other boy's silence was infinitely more disconcerting than any smart-ass comment he could have made.

"Potter?..." Draco's voice suddenly sounded strange and feeble, and he didn't lift his head to look at Harry. "If you steal my wand again… I'll fucking kill you…" With that said, he promptly passed out.

Moving considerably faster than he would've been able to the day previous, Harry barely managed to catch Draco before he collapsed in his own mess. Grunting with effort, Harry dragged his limp form to a relatively clean area of the floor and laid him carefully down before quietly picking Draco's wand up from where it had fallen. He examined it with a sick feeling twisting his gut. As tempting as another break-out attempt seemed, Harry couldn't face the responsibility of what might happen because of his actions as the outcome of last time's venture lay hurt and unconscious at his feet

After muttering a quick Scourgify, Harry settled down to the floor and gently placed Draco's head in his lap before placing a hand on his cheek and forehead. Draco's grey-tinged skin was cold and clammy to the touch, more so than the cool temperature of the dungeon allowed. Even in his unaware state, his breathing seemed erratic, alternating between long, deep breaths and short and choppy ones. It was as if he was trying to find the easiest way to alleviate the pain in his body but finding no solution for it.

"I don't hate you," Harry whispered, rubbing his hand soothingly over Draco's chest in an attempt to help.

He sighed, indecision tugging at his mind. On one hand, sleep, albeit an unnatural one, was the exact thing Draco needed at the moment, but if he was expected some place elsewhere in the Manor and failed to show up… Harry imagined the consequences of that would be anything but healthy.

Harry lifted the wand. "Shit," he breathed slowly, then muttered a quick spell to rouse Draco.

Draco's pale lashes fluttered open slowly and he blinked up at Harry with slightly glazed eyes. "Potter…what…?"

"It's okay," Harry said softly, carefully brushing a white-gold strand of hair off Draco's forehead. It simply seemed the right thing to do.

Draco's eyes widened suddenly as if in realization, and he gave a slight groan of dismay. "Where is my wand?" he asked weakly.

Harry pressed the hilt of the wand into Draco's clammy hand, closing his fingers around it gently. Draco closed his eyes in apparent relief, his hand clutched around his wand like a lifeline.

"Why?" he asked in a quiet murmur. "You had the perfect chance to get away, why wouldn't you take advantage of it?"

"It didn't exactly work out last time," Harry said wryly. "And…they would have hurt you again. I don't care who you are, Malfoy, but I'm tired of watching people get hurt on my behalf. Especially people who…helped me."

"I haven't," Draco countered as vehemently as his condition would allow. "I'm telling you, Potter, everything I've done has been for my benefit." A great racking cough shook his body at that moment, and he turned slightly on his side, coughing against Harry's upper thigh.

"I don't believe that," Harry said quietly after Draco's coughs had subsided. "I think you're a better person than you give yourself credit for."

"Please," Draco said in a scoffing tone, weakly raising himself to a sitting position. He gave Harry a pointed look, his gray eyes slightly clouded. "Like I said before, you wrote me off at age eleven." He said this in an offhanded manner, as if it didn't matter at all; yet his eyes, which averted slightly from Harry, betrayed him.

"That really bothers you, doesn't it?" Harry asked softly, suddenly overcome with the irrational urge to either hug him or hit him…or both.

Draco made an indignant sound. "Not at all. It wasn't soon after you'd rejected my handshake, which was very rude, by the way! that I saw you for the attention-seeker you were."

"I was the attention-seeker?" Harry said disbelievingly, his lips twitching with an urge to laugh. "Malfoy, you were the one making Potter Stinks badges and dressing as a Dementor to scare me. Not to mention how awful you were to Hermione."

"Well, the Mudblood know-it-all had it coming," he said sharply, tossing his hair haughtily while shooting Harry a sideways glare.

"Don't call her that!" Harry said between gritted teeth. "Why do you have to be like this?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at him coyly. "I thought you were convinced of my innate goodness, Potter."

"I am," Harry said firmly. "But I still think you're basically a git."

Draco smiled. "Well, that's where we're even."

Harry snorted. "Whatever, Malfoy." He glanced over at Draco, pleased to see that he appeared to have slightly more color and was shaking less. As if sensing Harry's appraisal, Draco looked up, and for a brief moment they made eye contact. Draco bit his lip as if in thought, then looked away quickly.

"Are you feeling any better?" Harry asked after a moment. Draco looked at him in surprise.

"I'm fine," he said shortly. As if to prove it, he drew himself unsteadily to his feet. Harry was at his side immediately, nervously steadying him with a hand on each elbow.

"Potter…" Draco began, then shaking his head, said nothing.

"What?" Harry asked softly, his hands still softly holding Draco's arms. He was suddenly aware of how close they were standing; he could feel the small spurts of Draco's breaths on his face, could make out the tiny flecks of gold speckling his gray irises. For some reason it filled him with an almost painful ache, and he vowed once more to do nothing that could hurt Draco Malfoy, who for some reason, was more easily hurt than he had thought previously.

Draco stepped away, a strange look on his face, shaking his head when Harry moved to assist him. "I really need to get back," he said almost reluctantly. "But I'll be back later…to bring you dinner." Making his way to the door, he turned around as if it were an afterthought.

"Thanks, Potter," he said quietly, and then he was gone.

* * *

It felt strange standing in his father's study. It felt even stranger to be standing there looking at Voldemort, sitting primly behind Lucius' desk, a book in one skeletal hand and his wand in another. Draco thought he looked almost civilized at the moment. Perhaps a scarier, uglier version of Professor Snape on his worst day- and that was saying something- but civilized nonetheless. If not for the healthy dose of the Cruciatus curse Draco had received upon his invitation inside, he would've felt almost at home.

As he stood there, nervously awaiting Voldemort's forthcoming lecture, Draco found himself wishing he was still in the dungeon with Harry, whose gentle ministrations had helped more than he'd probably realized. At every second Draco feared his body would betray him and he'd simply collapse to the ground. But the memory of last night's episode of nearly having his head unattached from his neck was incentive enough to keep himself upright. For the moment.

"I know you were holding something back from me, Draco," Voldemort's raspy voice was eerily soft and the fact that his eyes were closed, as if in relaxation, made him appear even more sinister.

Draco swallowed dryly. Merely the thought of Voldemort forcefully crawling and digging his way through his mind was enough to make him sick all over again. Never before had such a thing made him feel so violated. Ironically, it had been Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the Dark Lord's most devoted and enthusiastic followers, who'd formed Draco into a more than capable Occlumens. She'd drilled into him time and again how important knowing it would be if he were ever captured by the enemy. Funny how the one time Draco had found need to use it was against those on his own side.

"I would never hold something back from you, my Lord," Draco replied tentatively, eyes cast down. The book slammed loudly on the desk and he flinched visibly.

Voldemort laughed softly at his reaction. "I can do much worse than make loud noises, my young friend. How can I count on you as a reliable follower if you're still startled by such trivial distractions?"

Draco didn't imagine Voldemort expected him to answer. So he didn't.

"Draco, Draco. Why do you persist in lying to me?" his voice became softer in warning. "If you confess now you may find the rest of our meeting a bit more enjoyable."

Seriously doubting this to be true, Draco slowly shook his head. "My Lord, I have no secrets from you." Hearing Voldemort's annoyed intake of breath, he hastily continued, "If it seemed I was fighting back, I assure you it was an unconscious reaction against the strength of your spell. I meant nothing by it."

Voldemort seemed to consider this for a moment. "Yes," he hissed contemplatively, "my methods may have been a bit… overzealous, considering you are a less than worthy adversary. And your _Aunt Bella _then, as you call her, is to be commended then for the skills she did manage to pass on to you."

Draco had no idea if he'd just been insulted, complimented, or both, but began to feel the tiniest bit of relief nevertheless. Voldemort had unwittingly played into his own weakness, an intense fascination with his own abilities, and seemed to have forgotten completely that a seventeen-year old could possibly have fooled him.

Draco's vision suddenly blurred and he swayed nauseatingly for a moment, instinctively reaching out a hand and gripping the edge of his father's desk. The episode passed and he realized Voldemort was watching him, something akin to fascination and disgust in his expression. Though he still felt less than balanced, Draco snatched his hand off the desk hastily.

"Physical weakness," Voldemort began, "cannot be tolerated. No more so than mental. I expect you to intone the proper healing spells before the next time you face me. As an example to the less pure wizards of the world, Draco, you can never show weakness."

The problem of there being no existing healing spells for the after-effects of a torture curse, as it caused no actual physical injuries, didn't seem to occur to Voldemort as he made his speech.

"Yes, my Lord," Draco replied promptly. Though it seemed their meeting was mercifully at an end, he waited silently for dismissal.

To his dismay, Voldemort turned around and picked something up instead, before holding out to Draco. Draco took it wordlessly and instantly recognized the _Daily Prophet_'s flashy insignia at the top of the page. Below it was a photograph of Harry Potter casting a series of curses at two rather unfamiliar looking wizards. And it was dated for last night. Either Harry had switched sides and participated in a Death Eater raid while Draco was sleeping, or the Polyjuice plan had been put into action.

"I'm sure Mr. Potter will enjoy some light reading over dinner tonight," Voldemort practically purred.

Draco nodded stiffly, not bothering to read over the article himself. He'd surely hear all about it from Harry later anyway.

Voldemort sighed suddenly, a rather strange sound coming from someone whose voice often resembled a snake. "I do forgive you, but if you were to leave this room in your current state, my other faithful servants might start thinking their Lord was becoming weak. What did I just teach you about that, Draco?"

Personally, Draco didn't find his current state terribly enviable, but he answered obediently in a flat voice," Never show weakness."

Voldemort smiled coldly. "I'm glad to see you've been listening."

* * *

Draco awoke in his own bed an indeterminate amount of hours later, and blinking wearily, attempted to raise his head from the pillow. The last thing he remembered was Voldemort casting the Cruciatus Curse again and again, until apparently he'd passed out. He groaned softly, unable to help himself as a wave of nausea swam over him, and he ground his teeth fiercely.

There was a clatter of sound much like a chair being pushed away, and in the next moment Narcissa was hovering nervously above him, her golden hair hanging angelically around her chalk-white face.

"Draco," she said in a tremulous voice, her hands fluttering to push his hair back with cold hands. She kissed his forehead, her shoulders shaking slightly. "Thank god you're alright."

"I'm fine, Mother," Draco said with as much force as he could muster, weakly pulling himself into a sitting position. The sudden movement jarred something inside him, and he began to cough, a raspy hack which, upon inspecting his hands, left them spattered with blood. He looked at the crimson speckles with a bemused detachment, even as tears trailed down his mother's face, which she quickly brushed away with trembling fingers.

"Where's Father?" he asked after a moment. Narcissa gave a slight shrug.

"You know he never tells me anything, Draco," she said matter-of-factly. It wasn't a bitter statement; it was simply the way things were. In the Malfoy household, as in many old pureblood families, gender roles were rather traditional, with Lucius in charge of financial and political aspirations, and Narcissa coyly running the Manor affairs. And they had been happy this way at one time, or at least Draco had thought they were.

"Oh," Draco said lamely, not knowing what else to say.

"Here." His mother thrust a cup of something into his hands, and Draco gulped it without question. It was a potion of some sort, its bitterness masked with honey.

"I was forbidden to give this to you," she said in a conspiratorial whisper, her hands flitting softly across his face. "But I'll be damned if I'll let my child suffer anymore."

Draco smiled, feeling the potion's effects immediately. "I'm hardly a child anymore, Mother."

She smiled with sad eyes, ruffling his hair as she'd done when he was little. "No, you're not."

Draco was suddenly aware of the red-gold sunset out the window, streaking the sky with fire, and he sat up with a start.

"Potter! I have to bring Potter his dinner, or no one will."

Narcissa sniffed disdainfully, as she inevitably did at the mention of Harry Potter.

"Potter," she said scornfully. "You've spoken nonstop about him since you started Hogwarts, yet he seems to think nothing of using you to further his agenda."

Had he spoken nonstop about Harry? He'd certainly let it be known how much he hated him to everyone who would listen. In fact, he had a hazy memory of a day by the lake in third year, when Pansy Parkinson had asked him why he talked about Potter so much.

"Because I hate that arrogant wanker," he'd said disdainfully, eagerly trying out the latest dirty word he'd heard in the Quidditch locker room.

Pansy just gave him a sideways glance, the sun on her black hair making it nearly blue. "Well, people usually only talk a lot about things they care about," she said with a shrug. "I don't like him either, but I usually just don't think about him."

Draco's hand tore out a fistful of grass and dirt clumps, and he threw it angrily into the lake.

"What, you think I care about Potter?"

Pansy just shrugged. "I suppose not," she said in a noncommittal tone.

Draco rounded furiously on Crabbe and Goyle. "How about you two? Is that what you think?"

They each blinked back at him with identical blank looks.

"You do talk about him a lot," Crabbe said softly, nervously picking at blades of grass. "But I'm sure it's because you hate him."

"Damn right it is," Draco said with conviction. He suddenly wished Potter, no doubt with his Mudblood and pet Weasel in tow would walk by them. Pansy's words had inexplicably filled him with a raw, unidentifiable sort of rage, and he needed to hex someone.

But now the present-day Draco was filled with something else by his mother's words, and he realized he no longer had the comfort of rage to fall back on.

"They were torturing him, Mother," Draco said quietly, not meeting her eyes. "He saw an opportunity and took it, much like I would have."

Narcissa's expression softened slightly, and she squeezed his shoulder. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Dragon. However ambivalent I feel about Potter, I've never had the stomach to see anybody killed or tortured, even him. I'm different from my sister in that respect. And I think you are too," she said softly.

Draco knew he was. It was all fine and dandy to speak of killing as an abstract concept, as something to bring glory and prestige. Draco had thought that way once, never taking into account that his victims couldn't possibly be so abstract, that they were people much like him who breathed and dreamed and cried. Dumbledore had inspired many things in Draco; feelings of injustice, for one, of hatred, and even grudging respect. Yet the biggest of all these things had been five simple words, "You're not a killer, Draco." Weeks later, after helplessly watching his Muggle Studies teacher murdered in front of him, her horrified eyes meeting his for a moment, he'd remembered those very words, and he'd felt the worst sort of desolation he'd ever felt.

Draco nodded slowly, a lump rising in his throat. "So what do I do?" he asked hoarsely.

Narcissa appeared thoughtful for a moment. "Whatever it takes. The most important thing is that we survive, and survive we will. That's why, however much you might be tempted to feel for Potter, you simply can't allow yourself."

"Are they going to kill him?" Draco asked shakily. He still hated Potter, he told himself, but he didn't want him killed. In fact, at the moment Draco wanted nothing more than to lie with his head on Harry's lap again, which had oddly filled him with a strange peace and feeling of safety.

His mother looked at him sadly, brushing the hair from his eyes once more. "That is the ultimate plan, I believe," she told him. "But the Dark Lord has other plans for him in the meantime."

"I thought Father didn't tell you anything," he said more sharply than he'd intended.

She winced slightly at his tone. "I listen, Draco. And I talk to Bella."

Draco wrenched himself gently out of her grasp, lowering his feet to the ground. He took a tentative step forward, finding that his dizziness had all but disappeared.

"I really do need to see to Potter," he said quietly, slipping his boots on. "It is, after all, my duty."

Narcissa nodded, her eyes glistening slightly. "I'm so sorry, Draco," she said in a soft voice, her eyes fixed at some unknown point. "This was never meant to be your war."

"It still isn't," Draco replied, walking toward the door, leaving his mother staring wistfully at his old Quidditch posters.

Even back at Hogwarts, Draco had been unwittingly enthralled by Harry's ability to command a room, usually by nothing more than his presence. It was as if Harry had had an air of power about him, some energy which he effortlessly exuded, but which he had seemed unaware of. Because of this, every classroom Draco had ever shared with Harry had seemed to swirl with an unmemorable blur of faces centering around a boy with glasses and unruly dark hair. Of course, Draco had hated him for it, yet at the same time, he'd yearned to be included in that vicinity of power, in the raw intensity which Harry seemed to direct at everything he deemed important, be it Ron and Hermione, Quidditch, even bloody Snape. Try as he might, Draco could never seem to turn that focus on him. When Harry did look at him, it was the way in which a person regards a minor annoyance, a pest; he'd looked at him, but never _seen_ him, had never perceived him as a threat or an equal in any way. At least until sixth year, in which Harry had really noticed him for the first time, yet ironically enough, Harry's attention had been the last thing Draco had wanted that year.

Even now, crouched on the floor of a filthy dungeon, Harry still appeared the center of his own universe, a force too large to be contained in the tiny room. He looked up as Draco walked into the room, an unfamiliar light appearing in his green eyes. Draco felt his chest clench slightly in response; for once, Harry was actually seeing him.

"I brought your dinner," Draco said finally. He would wait, he'd decided, to show Harry the _Daily Prophet_ article until after he'd eaten. It was the logical thing to do, he'd rationalized, because surely Harry would become too upset to eat, and since Draco was solely responsible for Harry's health…

"Thanks," Harry said quietly, his disconcertingly intense gaze never wavering. After hesitating briefly, Draco lowered himself next to Harry, close enough for their shoulders to brush.

"Aren't you worried I'll steal your wand again?" Harry asked softly.

For some reason, the thought hadn't even crossed his mind.

"Not really," he answered, passing the dinner tray to Harry. Harry opened the tray eagerly, eating the stale food with gusto. Draco watched Harry through slitted eyes, noting the way his lips smacked fervently, the way his jaw worked and his pale neck convulsed with each swallow. Draco gulped slightly, willing himself to look away. When Harry finished, Draco nervously fiddled with the paper in his pocket.

"Here," he said finally, thrusting the paper into Harry's hands. Harry took the paper without comment, staring at it for a long moment.

"Polyjuice potion?" he asked in a chilly voice.

"Yes," Draco answered quietly.

"Did you know about this?" Harry's voice was eerily flat, and Draco nearly wished he would scream and rant like he'd expected him to.

"Yes," Draco said once again, the word painful in his throat. He vaguely remembered a time when causing Harry such pain would have been cause for glee, yet now he was hard pressed to recall it. In fact, at the moment he could nearly feel Harry's pain as his own, an alien concept to Draco.

"There was nothing I could do," Draco said, feeling an inexplicable need to explain himself.

Harry swiveled his neck to look at him, his face so close their noses were nearly touching. "Would you have done anything? I mean, you've hated me for years, Malfoy. Isn't this the sort of thing you've always dreamed of? Not only am I at Voldemort's mercy, but now my own side thinks I've turned on them."

"I still hate you," Draco said quietly, almost woefully.

Harry gave a snort of derision. "Nice, Malfoy. Very nice."

"Well, you hate me, don't you?" Draco said in a small voice.

Harry sighed slightly. "No, Malfoy, I really can't say I do."

"Well, maybe you should," Draco said almost imperceptibly.

"But I don't." Harry slumped against him suddenly, his head bent against Draco's shoulder. It was only by a slight wetness soaking through his shirt that Draco could tell he was crying, but he pretended not to notice. He raised a trembling hand to brush through Harry's mop of hair, his other pulling Harry against him until Draco's chin rested on the top of Harry's head. Harry didn't protest, in fact he made no sound at all. If it hadn't been for the slight shake of his shoulders and the steamy feel of his tears, Draco would have thought he was asleep.

"I'm sorry," Draco murmured after a moment. He ran a hand softly down Harry's spine, able to trace every mound of vertebrae through Harry's thin shirt.

Harry mumbled something against Draco's neck.

"What?"

"I said I've never heard you say that before," Harry said, his breath hot against Draco's skin. He raised his head wearily, blinking behind foggy glasses. "Do you really hate me?"

"Yes," Draco whispered. Unable to help himself, he took off Harry's glasses and with a flick of his wand, they were clear. Harry didn't move, looking achingly vulnerable as Draco carefully slipped the glasses back. His hands lingered on Harry's face, and before he could stop himself, he was gripping Harry's jaw, tilting his face, kissing him.

He felt Harry take a sharp intake of breath, and Draco pulled away quickly, standing upright as if pulled by a string. Harry was staring at him oddly, his red-rimmed eyes darkening slightly.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, his second apology of the night. "I don't…I…I have to go."

"No torture session tonight?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco shook his head. "He wants you to regain your strength. I don't know why."

Harry closed his eyes as if giving thanks, then opening them, met Draco's gaze.

"You don't have to leave, you know."

Draco's mouth felt like sandpaper, and for a moment he nearly considered staying.

"I can't," he blurted. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As he slammed the door behind him, he almost thought he heard Harry calling his name, but of course, he kept walking.

* * *

Harry spent the next several hours wondering what the hell had just happened. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, archrivals since the tender age of eleven; both had nearly killed each other several times, both had venomously proclaimed their hate of each other for over six years. And they had just kissed.

Harry shook his head. He was currently caught somewhere between dumbfounded, amused, and disgusted. Not disgusted with Draco for kissing him, but disgusted with himself for not knowing how he felt about it. After all, Harry wasn't gay. He'd snogged a lot back at Hogwarts… Cho… Ginny… Well, maybe not a lot. But he'd never once considered another boy in that manner. The boiling feeling he'd gotten in his stomach all throughout sixth year for Ginny, the nervous butterflies he'd felt whenever he'd crossed paths with Cho- especially when she'd been crying- those were things reserved solely for potential love interests and Harry had never found himself enamored with a boy in that same way. …Or had he?

A strange fluttery feeling passed through Harry's stomach suddenly. At more than one point last year Hermione had persisted in her strange notion that Harry was obsessed with, of all people, Draco Malfoy. Harry had disdainfully scoffed at her at the time. He'd hated Malfoy, the arrogant little git. Had hated him for years. The only reason Harry was paying him any attention was because he'd known he was up to no good, more so than usual.

Now Harry vaguely recalled Hermione's silent sideway glances and his stomach seemed to drop further into the ground.

Draco liked boys… That didn't surprise him all that much honestly. He'd always been a bit prissy in his own way, though more in a well-pampered pet kind of way than anything. Definitely not in the overly flamboyant sense that Muggles usually associated with it though. Under the Dursley's tender care, Harry had grown up knowing mostly nothing about anything and then even less about the more unsavory aspects of the world, at least in his aunt and uncle's point of view. Once Dudley had been so preoccupied stuffing his face with food that his regular tv show had rolled into another, of which had included a flamboyantly gay character, whom Harry had found rather amusing. Even Dudley had cracked a smile, though in retrospect Harry couldn't be sure if it had been directed at the television or his new bag of crisps lying nearby, but then Vernon had come in and nearly imploded with rage when he saw what his manly child was watching. Of course it had been Harry's fault for not changing the channel, as Dudley was clearly occupied at the time, and he'd gone to bed two nights in a row without dinner. Aside from that, Harry had hardly been exposed to anything of that nature.

Maybe in the Wizarding community it all worked a lot different.

Harry leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. Probably above anything else at the moment, there was one question that continued to nag at his mind.

Had he kissed Malfoy back?

It had all happened in the blink of an eye. One second they were just looking at each other, or squinting, in Harry's case, and suddenly Draco's lips had met his. Warm. Soft. The bittersweet after-taste of a potion on his breath. And then he'd pulled away and stood suddenly, looking every bit the forlorn child Harry had witnessed last year crying in the bathroom. Before Harry's stupefied brain could fully comprehend what had happened, he'd left.

As the night wore on, Harry slowly and somewhat unwillingly slipped into a light sleep, but at every small sound he was roused jerkily awake, glancing immediately to the door. Whether this was from nervousness or anticipation, he didn't know. But he did know that when the door creaked open an indeterminate amount of time later, Draco's blond head appearing in the harsh influx of light, Harry's stomach did several flip-flops that could have competed and won against any from the previous year.

"Er, hi," he said stupidly.

Draco nodded curtly and muttered something that resembled "good morning", all the while purposefully avoiding Harry's gaze. He less than gently set a tray of food on the ground, far enough away that Harry had to stretch for it, before sliding down to the floor against the opposite wall with a huff.

Harry regarded him for a moment. Last night he hadn't exactly been the picture of health, still too pale and too shaky, and as always, too thin, but now he seemed shaken in a completely different way.

"Malfoy?"

Draco glanced up, his usual guarded expression present. "What?" he asked disinterestedly.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek before asking hesitantly, "Are you alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he nearly snapped.

Wondering if he should point out the obvious, as Draco had been_Crucioed_ several times in the past two days, Harry decided to move on to the more pressing matter at hand.

"I mean…I don't… well, last night…are you… um…" the words stumbled out of Harry's mouth before he could consider how impossibly ridiculous he sounded. As soon as that thought occurred to him however, he clamped his mouth shut, considering that maybe he should actually think of what to say before saying it.

In the meantime, Draco was looking at him with a rather bemused expression.

"I take it this isn't one of your more articulate days then, Potter?" he drawled, placing his hands behind his head and leaning back.

Harry felt his face reddening slightly and a bit of the usual animosity he associated with Draco Malfoy began to surface.

"I don't think you hate me, Draco," he blurted suddenly, foregoing the insult that generally accompanied such feelings.

Whether Draco was more shocked by Harry's statement or by the use of his first name, Harry wasn't sure.

Draco sneered. "Don't be an idiot. Of course I hate you. I don't know why you'd think otherwise."

Now it was Harry's turn to gape. "Then what the hell happened last night?"

Shrugging, Draco returned his gaze to an indiscriminate point on the wall.

"Guess my brain was a bit muddled from that potion," he returned casually, though Harry noticed his posture had stiffened visibly. "Or maybe I was just feeling sorry for you."

Harry clenched his fists, his irritation increasing another notch.

Draco looked at Harry, apparently assuring himself that his words were having the desired effect, and continued.

"Poor, wretched, little Potter. You're a bit like a puppy that's been kicked around all its life, you know? Then you found the Weasleys and that Mudblood Granger, practically got adopted by them, though how they managed to pack you into their sardine can of a house I'll never know, and now you've gone and nearly killed one of their brood. Or at least that's what they think. It really is pathetic, Potter. And then you come crying on my shoulder, of all people? I mean, come on."

Throughout his speech, Harry felt the all too familiar anger seething just under the surface and by the time Draco paused to breathe, he couldn't contain himself any longer.

"Oh, I'm pathetic, Malfoy?" he shouted angrily, "You fucking kissed me! Is that what you do whenever you see someone feeling bad? You kiss them? Or maybe you do more, who knows! Maybe that's how you bought your way into the Death Eaters in the first place!"

Draco shot to his feet and Harry immediately reciprocated. "Shut the fuck up, Potter," he growled.

Harry continued unabated. "I always knew you were a ponce, Malfoy! It certainly explains why you've been following me around for the past seven years. I never thought you'd whore yourself out to get on someone's good side though!"

The second those words left Harry's mouth, he regretted it. He didn't actually believe any of the cruel comments he'd just spewed out, but he'd wanted to hurt Draco, irrationally so, and now there was no taking it back.

Suddenly Draco's whole demeanor seemed to change. One moment he was physically tensed to fight, as one-sided as that would've been considering how skinny he was, and abruptly he was deadly calm, retracting back into himself and crossing his arms over his chest. His pale eyes glittered angrily as he spoke in a quiet voice.

"That's what you think I was doing? _Whoring_ myself out to you?" Draco practically spat the words out. He took a step towards the door, turning his back to Harry.

"Fuck you, Potter," he said softly, his voice like ice. "Fuck you."

With a flick of his wand, the door opened and Draco left without another word, his words echoing behind hatefully in Harry's ears.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Like it? Hate it? Please tell! The next chapter is already in the works, but as always, reviews seem to speed up the process. The next chapters should see more in terms of action and such...yes, this story actually is getting to a point!


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: First of all, thanks to Dumbledude, Luxa, Moyima, and RoseNarc for their very nice reviews! And of course, everyone who reviewed in the previous chapters! You guys rock. And also thank you to the people who have added us as favorites and to their alert lists. You're the icing on the cake that is fanfiction!

**Chapter Seven**

Draco stomped angrily up the stairs, stopping along the way to kick a step. This act, of course, resulted in nothing more than a sore toe, and after kicking it again for good measure, he limped to the top of the stairwell. It was only when he'd stopped to catch his breath that he realized he was shaking, and he leaned against the wall, his heart beating erratically. In that moment, he hated Harry as he'd never hated anyone else. No one else had the ability to make him lose his cool, his calm veneer of scorn. No one else could reduce him to a quivering bundle of nerves, could make him feel at once on his guard and also want to let it down. And most of all, he hated that he didn't really hate Harry at all, and probably never had. For this alone, he hated him with an all-consuming hatred.

Why the hell had he kissed him? It wasn't like Draco to be so impulsive, so unheeding of the consequences. Yet something about the moment had made it seem right, and foolishly, he'd gone for it. Then afterwards, when Harry had looked at him with a clear look of disgust (at least that's how Draco had interpreted it), he knew he'd done it again; he'd put himself in a position of vulnerability in front of Harry, and once again, Harry had rejected him. And in an extremely low-blow, had even used Draco's sexuality as a weapon against him.

Draco had only kissed one boy at Hogwarts; Theodore Nott, a fellow Slytherin, back in fifth year. Draco had hated how emotionally bare the experience had made him feel, particularly when Theo had told him he was merely having fun, and it didn't mean anything.

"Really, Malfoy," Theo had said with a slight smirk upon seeing Draco's fallen expression. "Did you think I was going to be your boyfriend or something? You did, didn't you!"

"No!" Draco said violently. "I just thought…" Much to his shame, he could feel tears pricking hotly against his eyelids. He'd turned away, fighting back tears.

"Hey," Theo's voice had taken on a slightly gentler tone. "It's nothing personal. I'm just not into blokes, alright?" Draco had nodded, not bothering to turn around.

He had never spoken of the incident with anyone, and thankfully, neither had Theo. And thus had concluded the closest semblance to a relationship that Draco had ever experienced. Although there were certainly other gay wizards at Hogwarts, Draco had always been on the shy side where that sort of thing was concerned, and ever since Harry had turned down his friendship offer in first year, he had an enormous fear of rejection.

He remembered the first time he'd met Harry, who at the moment had only been a boy in a robe shop. Draco, who'd been exceedingly lonely as a child, and aside from Crabbe and Goyle had had very little experience with other children, had found himself inexplicably drawn to the gangly, knock-kneed boy with glasses, and had wanted nothing more than to be his friend. Despite his outward bravado, he'd actually been extremely nervous about starting Hogwarts, and in spite of having Crabbe and Goyle as friends, he'd longed for a best friend, an equal to share the experience with. The skinny, messy haired boy in the robe shop had seemed a likely candidate for that position, and so Draco had tried in vain to impress him.

Yet, in spite of his best efforts, the boy had seemed unimpressed, and in fact, had seemed to take an outright hatred to him. However, as much as the boy's nonchalance had stung, he'd held on hope that maybe, just maybe, he and the boy would become friends at Hogwarts. Maybe they would be in the same house, and Draco would graciously offer him protection under Crabbe and Goyle. Slytherins could be brutal, after all. And maybe he'd even like Quidditch, and during Christmas break Draco could ask his father to take them to a Quidditch game. And of course, in second year they could both try for the Quidditch team. Basically, Draco had fallen for Harry Potter before he'd even known he was Harry Potter.

So then, when Draco had discovered that the boy destined to be his best friend was actually the famous Harry Potter, whom he'd only ever read about, he'd been nervously elated. He'd decided to forego any childish exuberance, and instead he would attempt to emulate the command his father demonstrated. It seemed to be the right thing to do in the presence of one so famous and important. Yet once again, Harry had seemed unimpressed, and when he had coldly refused Draco's hand, telling him he could tell the wrong sort for himself, Draco had felt a part of himself crumble irreparably. And just moments ago he'd felt it again.

Shaking off all troubling thoughts about Harry, he continued walking through the Manor, marveling once more that the cold beauty of Malfoy Manor, which he'd once considered his birthright, had now been reduced to nothing more than one more item for Voldemort to lay claim to.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack, and Tilly Apparated in front of Draco. Slightly startled, he stepped back.

"I is sorry, Master Draco," Tilly squeaked, her bald head nearly touching the floor. "Tilly is a very bad elf!" She jumped up, apparently looking for an object to hit herself with.

There had been a time when Draco had been extremely amused by the overzealous servitude of the elves, and had even encouraged them in their violent punishments. But now…it reminded him far too much of his father, his proud, pureblood father groveling at the feet of a crazed, reptilian Half-blood.

"It's…it's okay, Tilly," he told her softly. She blinked up at him, her lip quivering slightly. "What is it?"

"Master Lucius is wanting Master Draco in his study, sir."

Draco nodded. "Thanks." Draco made his way quickly to his father's study, knocking cautiously. He couldn't help but remember the last time he'd been in the study, and hoped desperately that his father was alone.

"Come in," Lucius said curtly, and Draco opened the door slowly, surreptitiously glancing around the room for a sign of Voldemort, sighing with relief upon discovering they were truly alone.

"Close the door," Lucius said quietly, and Draco obeyed.

"You wanted to see me, Father?" Draco asked politely. As much as he'd always respected his father, revered him even, their relationship had always been one of cold formalities intermingled with lavish indulgences. From a young age, Draco had regarded his father as a distant, godlike entity, someone to admire from afar and wistfully hope to impress. The last few months had all but stripped that image from Draco's mind, but now, with his father sitting stiffly behind his mahogany desk, looking once more a paragon of importance, Draco felt the familiar washes of respect.

"Yes. Have a seat, Draco." Lucius gestured to a chair opposite the desk.

Draco took a seat, gulping slightly. "Are we alone?"

His father nodded, brandishing his wand to pour wine from a decanter into two glasses. Draco took his glass with a murmur of thanks, sipping politely.

"I took the liberty of erecting silencing wards around the room, so you can be assured that whatever you say in here will be heard by none except us." Lucius looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.

"Was there anything in particular you wished to discuss with me, Father?"

"Yes," Lucius answered shortly, mindlessly turning his staff around in his hands. "But first, I'd like to give you a moment to sip your wine and relax. Lord knows you've seen your share of excitement lately."

Draco shrugged, finding the statement slightly odd, but continued drinking. Lucius was silent for several minutes, continuing to fiddle with his staff.

"You put me in a very bad position the other day, Draco," Lucius said finally, his voice almost playfully chiding. "Because of your negligence, I was forced to Crucio my own son. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me?"

"It wasn't pleasant for me either," Draco blurted against his will. His eyes widened, expecting a sharp reprimand from his father, yet instead Lucius looked extremely satisfied. It was at that moment that Draco noticed three things; first of all, Lucius hadn't so much as touched his wine, second, Draco's head was buzzing slightly, and third, a snake was creeping up the side of Lucius' desk - Nagini.

"You poisoned me," Draco said accusingly, unable to keep the hurt tone from his voice.

"Don't be overdramatic, Draco," Lucius said with a sly smile. "I'm sure, being the apt pupil you are in Potions, you're aware of the effects of Verisiterum. Now, since apparently you insisted on fighting the Dark Lord out of your mind, he asked me to try a slightly gentler approach."

Irrationally, the thought that continuously ran through Draco's head was that he hoped his father wouldn't find out about the kiss…He remembered, vaguely, his aunt Bellatrix instructing him on the subtleties of beating Verisiterum; in the event he was captured, of course. Now for the second time, Draco found himself marveling on how once again, he was forced to recall these evasive techniques against his own side. And against his own father, at that.

"Why is _it_ here?" Draco asked sullenly, gesturing toward Nagini. As if in response, the snake stared at him through slitted eyes, flicking its tongue at him. Draco shivered in spite of himself; despite being in Slytherin, ironically enough he'd never been terribly fond of snakes.

"I'll be the one asking questions, Draco," Lucius said sternly. He gave his son a stern, appraising look. "Now, do relax. If you attempt to resist you'll only make things harder on yourself."

Draco nearly started at the sentence, a strange echo to his own words to Harry just a few days prior. Right before he'd kicked him in the stomach.

His father stared at him for a moment, a thoughtful, inscrutable expression on his face. "Why did you fight the Dark Lord out of your mind?"

Draco trembled, fearful of the answer that would inevitably tumble from his mouth. "Because," he said haltingly. The next words came out in a rush. "I didn't want him rooting around through my thoughts." He felt the effects of the potion, tugging mercilessly at his mind, compelling him to continue, but he clamped his mouth shut.

Lucius noticed, of course, as indicated by the coldness of his expression. "So, Draco," he said softly, bridging his fingers. "You have thoughts you'd like to conceal from the Dark Lord?"

"Yes," Draco blurted uncontrollably, shaking in an effort to keep his mouth shut.

"What sorts of thoughts?"

"Private kinds," Draco said with a sudden burst of vindictiveness, glaring resolutely at his father. He chose his next words carefully, determined to be as truthfully evasive as possible; just as Bellatrix had taught him. "I was…embarrassed by some of my thought, Father," Draco said quietly. "I didn't want our Lord to see the sorts of things I think about. Some of my thoughts are very…sexual. I think about sex a lot, Father."

Lucius cleared his throat, looking decidedly embarrassed. "Well, Draco," he said, averting his eyes from Draco's. His father had never been one to talk about such topics with him. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. You're seventeen, after all. I'm sure the Dark Lord wouldn't have held it against you."

Glad to see the tables had turned slightly, Draco simply hung his head in response.

"Is there, um, anything you wanted to know? About the…subject, I mean."

Feeling an overwhelming urge to smirk, Draco trained his face into an impassive stare. "I've always wondered about spells to enhance…you know, experiences."

Looking very uncomfortable, Lucius shifted slightly in his seat. "Yes, of course. I could, um, direct you to books on the subject, if you'd like."

Draco nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that." He looked at his father innocently. "Was there anything else you wanted to ask?"

Lucius seemed to shake himself back into the moment, yet still seemed slightly out of sorts. Draco found it odd that his father, who had apparently no qualms about following the orders of an insane reptile man, could find it so difficult to have a frank discussion with his son. Ever the Slytherin, Draco filed that tidbit away for future reference.

"Draco," he paused, apparently choosing his words carefully. "Have you done anything disloyal to the Dark Lord and to our cause?"

_Our cause_, Draco thought bitterly. It had never been his cause, as he'd never been given the choice. Not really. And he'd done nothing outwardly disloyal, even if his thoughts had precariously teetered toward such.

"I've _done_ nothing disloyal," Draco said firmly. "All I've done is what the Dark Lord had asked of me."

Lucius appeared relieved, nodding. "And lastly…what are your feelings towards Potter?"

It was the question Draco had been dreading in some form, yet his muddled brain still fought for the leeway the words could allow.

"I feel obligated to care for him. As I've been ordered to."

"Good." Apparently satisfied, the brief relief which had flashed across Lucius' features was quickly replaced by his usual cold scorn. "Not that I would expect anything less of my son, mind you. You're a Malfoy through and through, Draco, and Malfoys are devoid of the sort of Gryffindor foolishness that would allow for traitorous actions."

Draco simply nodded. It was the sort of statement he'd heard for years, ever since the small, highly anticipated stints into his father's office as a young child. He remembered sitting in the same chair he was currently sitting in, his head barely level with the desk. And Lucius across from him, practically shimmering with power and authority, calmly and patiently explaining to Draco what it meant to be a pureblood wizard in a world full of Mudbloods and blood traitors such as the Weasleys; how it wasn't prejudice really, that made isolation from Muggles a necessity, but merely the unfortunate violent tendencies of the non-magical.

"You can't blame them, Draco," his father had said softly. "Any more than you can blame a dog for being rapid. It's simply in their blood, which is why we wizards strive to maintain a distance from them. But Mudbloods," his lip curled with disdain at the word, "they are nothing but Muggles with magic, and will eventually be the ruin of our world. Remember that."

Draco had ensured him he would, his mind eagerly taking in his father's words. Unconsciously, he imitated his gestures, sometimes pretending to be someone as important as Lucius while bullying the house elves; partly, it was a way to test his own power, but mostly, he just wanted to be like his father.

* * *

Harry was dreaming; strange, troubling dreams in which Ron and Hermione hated him, dreams in which there was nothing around him but a desolate wasteland of death and darkness, and somehow, it was his fault, as he'd failed to save the world as he'd been destined to. There were dreams mixed with memories; dreams of crying himself to sleep in his cupboard, a lone and unloved child. A dream memory of the time the Dursleys had left on holiday without telling Harry, who'd been eight at the time. They hadn't picked him up from school, as it had been the final day before Christmas holiday, so he'd walked home by himself, the winter sun sinking quickly to the ground with a short-lived brilliance. By the time he'd managed to make it to Privet Drive, the moon was out, casting its eerie blue light upon the snow. Shivering in his thin, too-small jacket (the Dursleys insisted that buying two winter coats each year was out of the question, and since Dudders was such a fragile sort, of course he needed a new coat more than Harry), he'd found with dismay that he was locked out. Too cold to even cry, he'd simply stood in the yard, the newly falling snow swirling around him. Somewhere, obscured behind clouds, the stars glittered mercilessly, and perhaps above them, some unseen entity watched from afar as eight year old Harry Potter stretched out his cold hands, snowflakes covering them like holy manna from the heavens. He's stood that way a long time, until Mrs. Figg had snatched him in her arms and taken him inside her house.

A nudge from a booted foot brought Harry out of his troubled dreams, and he blinked unfocusedly.

"Get up, Potter," Draco said sharply.

Still disconcerted from the dissolving remnants of his dreams, Harry asked shakily, "What's going on?"

Draco sneered slightly. "How the hell would I know? Now, get up."

"So this is how it's going to be?" Harry said quietly.

Draco frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Harry rose to his feet, his legs feeling like spaghetti due to lack of exercise. He fixed Draco with a glare, the gray eyes meeting his narrowing in challenge.

" I'm talking about you, Malfoy. How one minute you can act like a decent person, and the next you're back to being a total prat."

"Oh, sorry, Potter. I wouldn't want you to think I was _whoring_ myself to you again." Draco sneered in apparent disgust, reminiscent of the boy Harry had spent years loathing. "Come on. I doubt you want to keep him waiting."

Harry gritted his teeth in exasperation. "Look, Malfoy, I shouldn't have said that. That's not what I really think, okay? But what did you expect? You come in here, insulting my friends, telling me you hate me when I _know _you don't, and then you expect me to just take it?"

Something indefinable flashed momentarily across Draco's face, yet he quickly replaced it with a bored look of indifference. "I do hate you, Potter," he drawled lazily. "Now, come on." He shoved Harry forward, his wand digging into Harry's back. "Move."

Harry said nothing, letting himself be pushed along. They walked in silence through the ornately polished halls, Draco occasionally giving him a sharp nudge with the end of his wand.

"Going somewhere, young Malfoy?" a jeering, familiar voice asked. Harry recoiled in disgust as Fenrir Greyback walked into view from behind a suit of armor. Harry wondered if he spent his days lurking behind various objects, and decided he was creepy and disgusting enough to do so.

Draco took a step forward, standing side by side with Harry. Jutting his pointy chin, he managed to give the impression of looking down at Greyback in disdain.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Dark Lord's orders, in fact, so it would probably be wise if you'd allow us to continue."

Greyback smiled, displaying his rotten, pointy teeth. He leaned toward Harry and Draco, taking a long sniff with flared nostrils. "You both smell wonderful," he growled softly, his sour breath wafting in their direction. Harry was surprised to feel Draco's fingers digging into his shoulder. Greyback grinned at the reaction, and Harry was appalled to notice bits of raw meat stuck between his teeth.

"I'd never dream of interfering with the Dark Lord's orders, of course." He stepped aside, allowing them to pass. Not relinquishing his death-grip on Harry's shoulder, Draco guided him past Greyback.

"After all," Greyback called after them, "He does reward me so for my services. Who knows, he might even let me get to know you a little better, Potter!" He laughed, a strange hacking sound.

"He's lying," Draco whispered. "Just ignore him."

Harry glanced sideways at Draco in surprise. As if remembering himself, Draco let go of Harry, once again prodding him forward with his wand.

"Here we are," he said finally, coming to a halt outside a massive, oak-framed door. He reached around Harry to open the door, pushing him roughly through the doorframe.

Voldemort stood framed in front of a window, looking oddly serene. In profile, his face was even stranger, his slitted nostrils completely flat against his snake-like face. It was hard to believe Voldemort's deformed visage had ever borne any resemblance to the handsome face of Tom Riddle. He swiveled his head slowly around at their entrance, reminding Harry of a snake preparing to strike.

"Harry, how lovely to see you," Voldemort said with a smirk.

"Too bad I can't say the same," Harry replied in a burst of defiance. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he still could hear Hermione pleading with him to just keep his mouth shut, and he did so before he could make any more brash statements.

Ignoring Harry's comment, Voldemort gestured at the door with his wand, slamming it shut with a bang.

"Do have a seat, Harry," Voldemort hissed softly. "I wouldn't want you to think me uncivilized."

Biting his tongue, Harry managed to do just that without a comment. Hermione would have been proud. Meanwhile, Draco lingered in a corner, watching the proceedings with a blank expression.

Voldemort settled across from Harry, a triumphant gleam in his cold eyes. "I'm afraid we may have gotten off to a bad start, Harry," he said softly.

Harry made an indignant sound in his throat, unable to help himself. "Hmm, I wonder why that is?"

Unfazed, Voldemort simply smiled icily. "I take it you enjoyed a little reading last night?" His fingers drummed over the desk between them, his claw-like nails making a resonant click.

"Yes," Harry said softly, finding that for once, he had no sharp retorts. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at the hideous face in front of him. "I get what you're doing, and I'll tell you now, it won't work."

"Really? How interesting," he said with a trace of humor. Without a word he produced a _Daily Prophet_, using his wand to lower it in front of Harry.

**The Boy Who Betrayed?**

_By Rita Skeeter_

_It is a tragic day in the Wizarding community, a day which will long be remembered with sighs of sorrow, of disillusion. It is clear enough in the faces of the children, usually alight with hope, now sagging with the insurmountable knowledge that even heroes aren't infallible, that they too can be corrupted and used to serve darkness. Yes, it is this reporter's immense displeasure to confirm what we had previously hoped was merely a cruel hoax: Harry Potter is indeed on the side of You-Know-Who, as made clear by yet another attack perpetuated by him, this time against several Aurors._

_As my readers may recall, I first interviewed Harry Potter when he was but a small boy of thirteen. Even then, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears, his trembling voice speaking of missing his mother, I was struck with an unshakable amount of dread. This boy, I knew then, was harboring a darkness which not even the likes of Albus Dumbledore could hope to save. And now, with speculation abound of his involvement in the murder of said Dumbledore, we can only wonder: could this troubled boy pose a threat even greater than You-Know-Who?_

_Here is what we know, dear readers. Yes, Harry Potter is indeed a Parselmouth, a sign usually indicative of a dark wizard. And yes, he has always had a terrible aversion to law and order. _

"_I simply didn't know what to do with him," said Dolores Umbridge, Potter's former Defense professor, a troubled frown furrowing her girlish features. "He thought himself above the rules, and try as I might, I couldn't seem to get through to him." She gave a troubled sigh, her eyes awash with remembrance. "Yes, he most certainly had a potential for violence, even back then. But dear me, I couldn't have foreseen it going in this direction."_

_I managed to catch Molly Weasley outside of St. Mungo's, visiting her injured son, Percy. As my loyal readers will recall, Percy is currently the victim of a yet unidentifiable dark curse, cast by Potter himself. Molly shook with emotion when I asked her thoughts on Harry Potter's strange conversion. _

"_I can't believe it," she said in a tremulous voice. "I loved him like one of my own." A single tear escaped down her cheek, and being the integrative journalist I am, I declined from interviewing her further. _

_And now, with our world becoming more and more uncertain, we are haunted by memories of a better time, a time in which Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, stood as a proud symbol of our triumph over evil. What now, dear readers, do we have to believe in?_

Feeling a lump gathering in his throat, Harry slammed the paper down on the desk.

Voldemort looked all too pleased by his reaction and Harry quickly arranged his features into, what he hoped, was a mask of indifference. He'd had lots of time studying Draco's lately after all.

Harry shrugged. "Do you always believe everything _The Prophet_ tells you? I think it's more likely Mrs. Weasley punched that Skeeter woman in the face than that."

Not quite believing the words himself, Harry waited for his host's response.

Voldemort, had he eyebrows, might have raised one at that moment. "You doubt what's going on out there, Harry?" he chuckled softly. "You are more naïve than I imagined. How accurate this report may be is neither here nor there. Do you really need to read these articles to imagine how people are reacting to you as one of my followers? Can you imagine what your _friends_ must think of you?"

Having thought about that far too often lately, Harry narrowed his eyes slightly but let nothing further show on his face.

"My _friends_ will never believe it," Harry ground out slowly. "Besides, believe it or not, my Muggleborn friend is the brightest of her age and I'm positive she's figured it out by now."

Apparently ignoring the point of his comment altogether, Voldemort smiled. "Ah, yes. I've been told a great deal about that Mudblood witch of yours." He looked past Harry for a moment. "She punched you once, didn't she, Draco?"

Harry didn't turn around but could plainly hear the tension in Draco's voice as he answered softly. "Yes, sir."

The incident had occurred during their third year at Hogwarts. On the brink of Buckbeak's execution (due to Draco's histrionic injury and his father's ensuing intervention) Harry, Hermione, and Ron had been heading back from Hagrid's, completely on edge and apparently more willing to fight than ever before. Hermione had called Draco a coward. Draco had called her a Mudblood. And suddenly Hermione's fist and Draco's nose had run into each other.

Recalling it now, Harry was surprised that he was hardly mad at Draco anymore. Even back then, Draco had been considerably taller than Hermione and, had he decided to make use of his wand, surely would've had his father justifying the act immediately. But he'd done nothing but scramble away in defeat and humiliation, flanked by his thick-headed cronies who apparently hadn't thought to act in his defense either. Or maybe they just knew better than to act without Draco's orders. Besides, Harry had seen so much worse since then, his school-boy fights hardly seemed worth considering.

Voldemort, on the other hand, seemed terribly keen on drawing out the matter.

"When we catch her one day, Draco, perhaps you would like the pleasure of ending her pathetic life? One cannot simply let these things go, you realize. I'm sure you remember our little talk about weakness."

Again, Draco answered, "Yes, sir," his voice steady and soft but strained nonetheless.

Harry wondered briefly whether his nerves were stemming from the discussion about Hermione or the reference to his "talk" with Voldemort. He considered speaking to Draco about it later. That is, if Draco would stay long enough to talk anymore.

Attentions returning to Harry, Voldemort clasped his hands across his abdomen and considered him for a moment.

"Now that you understand your friends will all die eventually," he started out in a mocking voice. Harry bristled slightly but kept his mouth shut. "Perhaps you will share with me what you meant by 'figuring it out'."

Harry was momentarily taken aback. A small flicker of a thought ran through his mind. A half-formed idea, one he'd been toying with lately during his hours of solitude.

"I mean," he began, "that they'll realize it's not me. They'll figure out it's just someone Polyjuiced as me, whether or not they think I'm still alive or not. They'll think I'm a prisoner or I was killed for the cause. Either way, I'll still be a hero."

Voldemort sneered angrily in response, lunging heatedly close to Harry who only flinched slightly. "You were never a hero, you imbecile! You were, _are_, a freak accident of magic gone wrong. How often have you met someone who was more interested in you than that hideous scar on your forehead? That's why the world is turning against you so easily, Harry. They never believed in you. They were always afraid of you and now you've proved them right!"

Mightily resisting the urge to back down, Harry looked Voldemort boldly in the face. "Maybe you're right. But you've just said how easily swayed they are, so who's to say I won't be a hero when they find out I'm just another one of your victims?"

"How exactly do you think anyone's going to find out, Harry?" Voldemort questioned, half-regaining his composure and leaning back.

"For one," Harry explained, fighting to keep his tone calm and confident, "my friends are familiar with Polyjuice potion because we used it in our second year to spy on Malfoy in his common room." Harry could practically feel Draco's gaze burning into his back but he continued. "It only lasts an hour. So what if whoever's pretending to be me gets stuck somewhere for longer than that?"

He let that suggestion sink in briefly before continuing. "There's also a map that shows people for who they truly are. Back when Wormtail was still a rat it showed me the name of Peter Pettigrew and when Barty Crouch was Moody it showed me his name as well. It can't be fooled by anything."

Harry failed to mention that the Marauder's Map was only inclusive of Hogwarts and the surrounding grounds as that would greatly take away from the effectiveness of his speech.

Voldemort snapped, "I've never heard of such a map."

"Well, you wouldn't have, would you?" Harry said, feeling more daring by the minute. "It was made by my father and Sirius Black. And now Hermione and Ron have it. If they haven't already passed it on to other people in the Order."

Voldemort looked as close to disconcerted as Harry had ever witnessed. That lasted all of two seconds before he was on his feet and pacing slowly back and forth.

"This is all very interesting, Harry, and as I suspect you're telling me all this for a reason, get to the point."

Harry took a deep breath. "I want you to let me take his place."

From the corner he was brooding in, Harry saw Draco look up with a start. Voldemort, on the other hand, looked smugly satisfied.

"An interesting notion, Harry." He gave a cold smile. "I assume you have some noble, Gryffindor plan behind your decision?"

"You could put it that way," Harry said, meeting Voldemort's glare. "You see, I'm not exactly doing any good at the moment, as your prisoner. And meanwhile, many people think I've turned to your side, and will continue to think so. Unless of course, if Ron and Hermione spot your imposter on the map. Then your whole charade is over."

"Indeed," Voldemort said, sneering at the mention of the map. A small, devious smile twisted his mouth. "Do continue, Harry."

"Well," Harry wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, feeling as if he were literally making a deal with the devil. "This person, whoever it is that keeps Polyjuicing as me…you send him on missions where people are killed, don't you?" The question was rhetorical at best, and Harry didn't even bother to give Voldemort a chance to reply. "So if…if I could go instead, and maybe, I don't know…stun people…that way I wouldn't give away my cover, but I wouldn't have to kill anybody," he paused. "Then, if I could pick a person to let live, and nobody would kill them…then, at least I'll be doing something good."

Voldemort chuckled, a strange hissing sound. "Oh, Harry, that is too amusing. You must take me for a fool, Harry Potter, to believe that I would agree to such a thing without demanding something in return."

"I'd be doing something!" Harry protested.

"Yes," Voldemort said coldly. "And as soon as I let you out of my sight, you'll make another foolish escape attempt, and perhaps this time it will be successful…no, Harry, I cannot allow such a thing to occur. However," he drew the word out, staring at Harry with unblinking lizard eyes. "I do happen to know something about you. You, much like Dumbledore, would rather die than allow the same fate for a friend, am I correct?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly.

"And how about a non-friend, Harry? Or does your savior complex only extend to those in your chosen circle?"

"It would depend on who they were," Harry said quietly.

"Hmm, how very interesting." Traces of humor flashed through his cold eyes. "Draco," he hissed. "Come stand next to me for a moment, if you'd be so kind."

Draco acquiesced, looking as white as parchment as he stood beside Voldemort. His eyes met Harry's for a moment, then quickly looked away. Harry felt sickened with the sudden realization that Draco, in many ways, was more of a prisoner than Harry. In fact he was nothing but a tool, a disposable puppet in Voldemort's eyes.

"Draco," Voldemort said quietly. "You've been very accommodating toward our friend here, as we've discussed before. Hopefully he'll take your kindness into consideration."

"What are you talking about?" Harry blurted.

Voldemort made a tsking sound. "Harry, Harry, your manners leave much to be desired. Now, as I was saying, it is time to repay Draco for his service to you." He placed a claw-like hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco flinched almost imperceptibly, and Voldemort smiled, removing his hand. "His life, Harry, is now in your hands alone."

"How do you mean?" Harry asked, his mouth dry. Draco, meanwhile, was staring at some point on the wall, refusing to meet Harry's eyes.

"What I mean," Voldemort said sharply, "is that I'll allow your ridiculous plan to proceed. Spare a few worthless Mudbloods if you wish, they're hardly significant. But if you step out of line, young Draco here will cease to be. Much as it would pain me to lose such a faithful servant," he smirked slightly, "we all must make our sacrifices, wouldn't you agree, Harry?"

Harry glared at Voldemort, nearly sick with hatred. "You're disgusting," he said, shaking slightly. "You're really fucking disgusting, you know that?"

Voldemort's expression didn't falter. "Is that a 'no' then, I take it? Very well." He raised his wand casually, pointing it at Draco, whose eyes widened in barely suppressed terror. "_Av…"_

"NO!" Harry was on his feet, pushing Draco roughly out of the way. Wandless though he was, Harry took on a protective stance in front of Draco. "No, please…" He was shaking, yet his voice didn't falter. "I'll do it. I'll do it, okay?"

Voldemort watched the entire scene unfold with an oddly satisfied expression. "I thought as much," he said finally. "Very well. Draco," he hissed softly. The blond boy stepped cautiously out from behind Harry, looking nearly ill.

"I think we can allow our guest some slightly more pleasant accommodations, as it were. Keep him nearby – perhaps the room adjoining yours. You're responsible for him, now more than ever. Keep that in mind, and pray that he does as well." His eyes glittered with malice, falling upon Harry. "Tomorrow morning, Harry. I'll send a house elf to fetch you and young Draco. I'll have some fun planned, don't you worry."

With that said, he dismissed them both, and Harry followed Draco silently through the long hallways. Harry struggled to find the words to say something, _anything _to Draco, yet as usual, found himself lacking in the eloquence department.

As it turned out, he didn't have to. Draco suddenly whirled around, his face contorted with fury, giving Harry a rough shove in the chest. Not expecting it, Harry stumbled backwards, nearly losing his balance in the process.

"You're such an idiot, Potter!" Draco ground out fiercely. "I've spent the last few weeks laying low, biding my time until this stupid war is over, and you and your bloody, stupid mouth have to ruin everything for me! You're going to get us both killed, you realize that, Potter? Or maybe that's what you want – a chance at martyrdom, to be remembered a hero, am I right?" Draco was shaking, and Harry unconsciously put a hand on his arm. Surprisingly, Draco didn't pull away, merely looking at Harry with dull eyes of acceptance.

"You're not going to die, Malfoy, alright? I promise."

Harry fully expected a sharp comment at that moment, or even the familiar sneer, but none came. Instead, Draco simply nodded, and Harry could see that in spite of himself, Draco wanted to believe in him.

"Okay," he said shortly, taking a shaky breath. "I think you really mean that."

"I do," Harry said firmly.

Draco nodded again, still appearing out of sorts. "I really thought he was going to kill me, Potter. In that second…I'm not like you. You wouldn't have been scared, at all, would you? With all he's done to you, you're still not scared. Just angry. But I'm – terrified of him." Draco closed his eyes, the admission clearly costing him. He swayed slightly, and Harry steadied him, and inexplicably in the next moment they were standing with their arms around each other. Draco's heart was fluttering like a frightened animal, and Harry rubbed his back awkwardly.

"You're wrong," Harry told him softly. "I do get scared. All the time, in fact."

He pulled back slightly from Draco, holding him at arm's length, managing a pursed smile. "Now, maybe you could show me my new room? It will be a step up from the present one, that's for sure."

Draco snorted. "Don't expect too much," he muttered, turning and walking briskly down the hall. Harry followed suit. Despite what the other boy thought, he was terrified of being caught alone in these foreboding corridors.

After catching up, deliberately lagging just a bit behind, Harry asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, not so long ago an entire wing of this house belonged to me," Draco explained, his tone bitter. "Then _they_ got here and I ended up in the bloody servant quarters."

Harry paused. "You have servants?"

Draco sent him a scathing look over his shoulder. "Metaphorically speaking, Potter."

Harry considered biting back his next remark. He didn't. "You know," he began, opting for gentle rather than lecturing, "I spent my first eleven years living in a broom closet. At least you still have something."

Draco's shoulders seemed to stiffen slightly and he didn't respond for a moment. "I don't have anything," he responded a second later, bitterness laced with weariness. "I don't care how much space I have, I could really care less. Despite what you think… The point is, I don't have a home at all. Not anymore."

They walked in silence for the next few minutes, Harry mentally beating himself up for being so damned insensitive. Being aware of other's feelings never had been one of his strong suits after all.

Even during those awful summers spent at the Dursley's, months spent in seclusion and anger, Harry had always had a home to return to. Hogwarts. If not there, as he was unlikely to ever return, he had the Weasley's, Hermione, even Number 12, Grimmauld Place, as much as it pained him to think of it now. Where did Draco have? He sure as hell didn't have Hogwarts and even his own childhood home no longer belonged to the Malfoys. Not really. As for friends? Harry had no idea how many of Draco's Slytherin counterparts he truly counted as friends to start with and even the possible few, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Zabini, and Parkinson- the prospect of their being in similar situations as Draco seemed sadly possible, if not likely.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, not sure what else would be appropriate at the moment.

He wasn't sure if Draco heard him as they suddenly stopped at a doorway. Flicking his wand silently, the door opened and Draco gestured him inside, seeming to glance around the hallway suspiciously before stepping in himself.

Harry didn't care if this wasn't Draco's usual room preference. It had a bed. It had a bathroom. Even a small window located on the far wall overlooked the dark grounds outside. It looked utterly perfect.

Harry turned to face Draco, smiling like an idiot despite himself. The latter seemed to soften marginally.

"I doubt it's more comfortable than your famed broom-closet but I imagine you'll make due," Draco commented, gazing around.

It took Harry a good minute to realize Draco had just made a joke. Resisting the urge to hug him insanely in his moment of happiness, Harry sat experimentally on his bed- and nearly died of elation. He groaned loudly and flopped onto his back while Draco looked positively alarmed where he stood.

"Have you forgotten the deal you just made?" Draco snapped. "How can you be so thrilled after that?"

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. "If I get to sleep on this bed for just tonight I'll die happy."

It was Draco's extremely quiet voice that cut through Harry's brief euphoria. "At least one of us will then."

"I told you, Malfoy, it'll be fine," Harry answered softly, opening his eyes and looking at Draco. Intense green and grey eyes met and neither of them spoke.

Draco sighed suddenly and rubbed a hand over his forehead. "Harry…" He clearly was struggling to say something. After a moment, "You're going to have to choose, you know. Choose who lives and who dies… Do you honestly think you can do that?" he paused again and his next words were so soft Harry had to lean forward slightly just to hear them. "Because I don't think I could."

Sitting forward, Harry attempted to meet Draco's gaze again but it was glued resolutely to the floor. "Look," he began slowly, "I know this seems like an awful idea-"

"Understatement," Draco muttered.

"- but I promise you, I know what I'm doing. I've been in some pretty bad situations before and somehow everything seems to work itself out in the end."

Draco groaned and slid down the wall to the floor, hugging his knees up to his chest but looking more exasperated than angry.

"Nothing ever just 'works itself out'," he quipped, gesturing half-heartedly with his hands. "So unless your infinite Gryffindor luck allows you to sit around and twiddle your thumbs while the fates unfold around you then, I imagine, you may have to actually apply your brain for this one. I know it's hard and all, but since we're not in school maybe you could take a stretch at it."

Harry rolled his eyes and sat up so he had a clearer view of Draco. His hands were now mostly covering his face, elbows propped on his knees and Harry wasn't sure if he imagined it or not, but he thought he saw him shivering slightly.

Momentary comfort forgotten, Harry climbed out of the bed and settled cross-legged on the floor across from Draco.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly. Draco made a soft noise of indignation but didn't look up.

"You keep asking me that, Potter," Draco replied tiredly, "If you care about my health all that much maybe you shouldn't have involved me in this little plot of yours."

Harry scowled in anger. "I didn't mean to and you know it!" he snapped.

Draco looked up, matching Harry's scowl. "No, you just didn't stop to think about it before you decided to unveil your oh-so-brilliant plan. Nice going."

"I suppose you knew that was going to happen then?" Harry retorted.

"Oh, come on," Draco said, a bit loftily, "you seriously think I would have played right into his hands like that? There's a reason we were in different Houses you know."

"I- what?" Harry sputtered, flushing at Draco first comment.

Draco shook his head and leaned back against the wall with a sigh. "Never mind. Forget it." A moment later he continued, "You never answered my question a minute ago."

"What?"

"You know," Draco reminded him, once again soft and pensive, "about choosing."

Harry stared at his feet. "Oh."

The ensuing silence lasted for a few uncomfortable minutes before Draco suddenly rose to his feet in a swift movement and reached for the door.

"My room is right next to you," he explained, sounding a bit awkward and gesturing to their right. "So if you really need anything just, I don't know, thump on the wall or something."

He opened the door and made to leave but Harry's words paused him midstride.

"I'll choose," Harry began softly, eyes still fixed to the floor, "If it means being able to save someone… being able to save you… I'll choose."

Draco shut the door quietly behind him, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

* * *

Author's Note 2: Please, please, PLEASE review? It just means so much to know that people are reading and enjoying this story! 


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Thanks bunches to the reviewers – Britzy, Luxa, Omgahitsbritt08, and a special prize goes to Moyima, for giving a wonderfully thought-provoking review! But seriously, thanks to everybody.

Chapter Eight

Harry awoke the next morning feeling vaguely disoriented. Rather than the hard slabs of stone he had grown accustomed to, he was on a bed, and a fairly soft one at that. And he had blankets, and a pillow…for an insane moment Harry wondered if perhaps he had died and gone to heaven. Then, as the first brush of coherent thought swept through his mind, that idea was instantly dispelled, and he groaned slightly, remembering the deal he'd made.

"Sleep well, Potter?" a sardonic, yet familiar voice asked. He raised his head slightly from his pillow, squinting at Draco's blurred image, pale skin meshing with even paler hair, then sleepily dropped his head.

"I thought a house-elf was coming to get us," Harry mumbled into his pillow.

"Yeah, it came and told me we have an hour," Draco said in an exasperated tone. "So get up."

"I will," Harry said drowsily, shutting his eyes. "In an hour."

"For fuck's sake," he heard Draco mutter. Then in the next instant his covers were being ripped away and a jet of icy water was pouring over him.

"Fuck!" Harry yelled angrily. He glared at Draco accusingly, shivering in only his boxers. He reached for his glasses, perching them on his nose. "What the hell is your problem, Malfoy?"

Draco, nearly doubled over with laughter, pointed a finger at him. "Potter! That was priceless. Your face…you look like a drowned rat…" he broke off, laughing hysterically for several moments before managing to compose himself.

Harry scowled. "It's not funny," he muttered grumpily. He had never been a morning person, after all.

"In all seriousness, Potter, get up. There's food, and coffee, which you quite desperately need. And Potter," he gave a smirk. "I'm only telling you this to prevent further humiliation on your part – take a shower. You smell horrible."

Despite Draco's less-than-subtle remark, Harry grudgingly admitted to himself that a shower sounded wonderful.

"Fine," he snapped, pulling himself out of bed. He noticed Draco's gaze flicker slightly over his boxer-clad body, coming up to make eye contact with Harry. Upon meeting his gaze, Draco noticeably gulped, tearing his eyes away violently. In a rush, Harry remembered the kiss, a confusing event which in light of the previous day's events, he'd all but forgotten. Feeling his face redden, Harry moved toward the bathroom.

"Hey Potter," Draco said softly, suddenly no trace of mocking in his voice. Instead he sounded oddly sincere and almost – nervous. "If you want, I could, er…spell your clothes clean for you. I mean, if you want me to."

"Er…okay," Harry said awkwardly, suddenly feeling as bumbling and inadequate as he had felt in fifth year, when talking to Cho Chang. "Umm, they're all on the floor next to the bed. And my, umm, boxers…"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm not asking for a peep show, Potter. Honestly." He smirked. "Just toss them out here. That is, if you want them clean."

"Er…yeah," Harry answered. "Thanks, Malfoy." Ducking behind the bathroom door, he stripped out of his boxers, and opening the door slightly, tossed them. He shut the door harder than he'd intended, his pulse racing oddly. What was wrong with him? He'd spent the last six years of his life in a dormitory, surrounded by other boys in various states of undress, had showered naked in the Quidditch lockers, and had never been fazed by it. Yet now, an innocent request by Draco Malfoy, of all people, had threatened to send him into coronary arrest.

He showered quickly, his troubled state of mind barely allowing for the luxurious experience of being clean after so long. In spite of himself, his mind flicked back over the kiss. Draco's lips had been so soft, so yielding, and he wondered what it would have been like to continue; to lightly nibble on Draco's bottom lip, feel his tongue brush against his, kiss the soft skin on his neck…Harry noted, with some degree of horror, that his body was responding to these mental images, and he was painfully aroused. Biting his lip, Harry took care of himself quickly, his teeth nearly drawing blood as he came into the shower drain. He let the warm water fall over him for a second, his numb brain refusing to acknowledge that yes, he had in fact just gotten off to Draco Malfoy. Oh god.

Shutting off the water, Harry wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom. His clothes were folded neatly on his (also neatly-made) bed, and he sighed with relief upon noting that Draco was nowhere to be seen. He dressed quickly, pulled on his trainers, and then knocked cautiously on the adjoining door.

Draco opened the door, and Harry gulped nervously.

"Enjoy yourself?" Draco asked with a slight smirk, and Harry's eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets. Surely Draco was just being his usual antagonistic self, surely he couldn't know…

Draco frowned slightly. "What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost, Potter."

"Er…" Harry stuttered. Draco laughed, a surprisingly malice-free sound.

"And I thought Crabbe and Goyle acted like Inferi in the morning." He grabbed Harry's arm, pulling him through their shared doorway. "You've got barely enough time to eat, so I suggest you hurry." He gestured to a tray set on a small table next to his bed, containing every sort of breakfast food imaginable, and as promised, coffee. Draco sprawled onto his bed, watching Harry curiously.

"Well, hurry up. I ate hours ago, so you don't have to wait for me."

Harry nodded, sitting cross-legged beside the table. He ate mechanically, despite the fact that his body had been starved for food for weeks. Every so often, he glanced at Draco. Why had he never noticed before? Draco was – well, beautiful was the only word that came to Harry's mind. Especially now, his posture relaxed, his expression open and almost dreamlike, white-blond hair tousled slightly…

"You're worried aren't you?" Draco asked suddenly, interrupting Harry's Draco-based musings. "About the deal you made."

Harry was, of course, yet the urgency of the situation had taken a momentary lapse. Nonetheless, Harry nodded dumbly.

"Don't be," Draco said quietly. "I know I was really worried yesterday, but I've had some time to think about it…and you're right. If everything I've heard about you is true, you've been in worse situations than this, and you managed to come out of them. I think…I trust you, maybe more than I should, and from now on I'm going to follow your lead."

Draco's words cut quickly through the fog in his brain, and Harry looked up, startled.

"Do you – really mean that?" he stuttered. "Is it…just self-interest, or…do you really want to help me?"

He could see Draco struggling with his words. "Both," he said finally, obviously not caring to elaborate. "And yeah, Harry, I mean it."

Harry stared unabashedly at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. "That's…thanks. Draco," he added.

Something softened briefly in Draco's face, perhaps at hearing his first name, then he nodded brusquely. "Well, don't fuck it up then, Potter." He slid off his bed, sighing slightly. "We'd better go," he said, regret lacing his tone.

Harry nodded, following Draco out of the room. And, as he was suddenly acutely of Draco, he noticed the tenseness of his shoulders, the way he held his neck stiffly upright.

Before he could think better of it, Harry had caught up with him, grabbing him gently by the elbow to turn him around.

"Hey, it will be alright," Harry said softly, giving his arm a slight squeeze.

Draco gave him a questioning look. "I know," he said shortly, his eyes filled with something unnamable. He pulled away from Harry's grasp and resumed walking. Harry followed after a heartbeat, the dread at where his steps were leading him finally catching up. But at least now, he thought to himself, he wasn't alone.

Voldemort, along with an entourage of Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy, were waiting in a circular formation around the massive ballroom. Draco stiffened noticeably, and Harry automatically placed himself in front of him.

"Harry," Voldemort hissed. "So nice of you to join us. I trust the accommodations were more to your liking?"

"Yeah, you could say that," Harry said stiffly.

Voldemort smiled coldly, toying slightly with his wand. "Worthy of the little deal we made, was it?"

"I didn't make it for a nicer room," Harry said sharply. "I did it to help people."

"Indeed." Voldemort's yellow gaze flicked over Harry, and he shivered, feeling as a mouse must feel when a cat played with it, claws unsheathed. He wondered briefly if Voldemort intended to perform Legilimency on him, and ironically enough, he found himself wishing he'd listened to Snape back in fifth year.

But after a moment of Voldemort's penetrating stare, he still hadn't felt the tell-tale stab of violation in his mind. Instead, Voldemort was moving toward him, his robes billowing dementor-like around his ankles. Despite his every nerve crying for him to step back, Harry stood steadfast, even meeting Voldemort's gaze with a glare of his own.

"Harry," Voldemort said quietly. "I have a little something planned, something to test your level of obedience. As I'm sure you're well aware, failure on your part could result in well, undesirable consequences." His serpentine gaze flickered over Draco, who was standing so close to Harry that he could feel the warmth emanating from his body.

"Just tell me what to do," Harry snapped.

Voldemort made a tsking sound at Harry's impertinent tone. "Something really should be done about your manners, Harry. Which of course, brings me to my point. You can resist the Imperius Curse, am I correct?"

"Yes," Harry said between clenched teeth. Voldemort of course, was well aware that he could resist the curse, as he'd performed it on Harry in the graveyard back in fourth year, which meant that he was merely toying with him. Once again.

"I'm going to put you under the Imperius Curse, Harry. Only this time, you're not going to resist me in any way. Am I quite understood?"

"Quite," Harry said shortly. As much as he loathed the idea of allowing Voldemort to control him, the alternative would be unbearable.

Voldemort smiled coldly at him, raising his wand without preamble. "_Imperio_!"

Immediately, Harry was overcome by the not-unpleasant sensation of being outside of himself, his mind occluded by a heavy fog. His limbs jerked without his violation, and even that was alright, because he was beyond worry at the moment, beyond anything at all. An indeterminate amount of time passed in a wonderfully blissful state, and he numbly wondered why he had fought so hard against this feeling in the past. After all, what could possibly be wrong with feeling so wonderful?

The feeling ended after a moment. As if invisible strings had been severed, Harry reeled back, head pounding. His wand, _his_ wand was clutched tightly in his hand, and before him Wormtail was cowering pitifully on the ground, his mechanical hand making spastic motions. Harry stepped back, sickened.

Voldemort appeared pleased. "Excellent, Harry. Well done. Now tell me, how did that make you feel?"

Harry closed his eyes, unable to stop himself from shaking. "It was horrible," he said, his throat dry.

"Was it?" Voldemort hissed slightly, moving closer to Harry. "Look at him. Look at what you did to him. Isn't there a part of you, however small, that is glad you did it? He betrayed your parents, Harry, don't forget that. He deserves it."

Wormtail made a small squeaking noise, struggling to sit upright, and Harry felt a strong wave of revulsion, mixed with a modicum of pity.

"Maybe he does deserve it," Harry said softly. "But it's not my place to decide."

"Who better?" Voldemort hissed. "Do it again, Harry. Hurt him. Think of your parents, how they trusted him. Who better to punish his misdeeds than the son of the friends he betrayed?"

Feeling sick, Harry raised his wand at the rodent-like man. Wormtail cringed, shaking visibly.

"_Crucio_!" Harry yelled suddenly, putting every hateful thought he'd ever experienced behind the spell. He thought of Snape, wishing it was his hated professor currently writhing in pain before him. The thought gave the spell an added momentum, and Wormtail screamed in agony, twitching and sobbing uncontrollably.

"Enough," Voldemort said finally, a cruel smile twisting his features. Lowering his wand, Harry stared at Wormtail in disbelief. No matter who Wormtail was or what he'd done, Harry couldn't believe the damage he'd inflicted on a fellow human being.

Voldemort sneered at Wormtail, currently curled into a shaking ball on the floor, sniffing grotesquely. "Get up, Wormtail," he ordered. Wormtail nodded, dried tears and snot crusting over his face. He stood up shakily, falling with a cry when his legs gave out. Voldemort chuckled, and with a wave of his wand pushed Wormtail out of the way.

"Now, that was terribly amusing, wouldn't you agree, Harry?"

"Not really," Harry said softly.

"No?" Voldemort said, smiling coldly. "Perhaps this next little exercise might be more to your liking then. You do have quite the history. Draco," he hissed quietly. "I need your assistance in teaching Harry another lesson."

Harry watched, horrified as Draco came forward, looking amazingly composed considering the circumstances. How could he hurt Draco, whom he'd sworn never to hurt again? But then again, if he didn't…

"What's the lesson?" Harry asked shakily.

"To never forget. And never forgive," Voldemort said icily. "You've hated him for years, Harry, what could possibly be the problem now?"

"I don't hate him anymore," Harry said softly. And now that he truly knew what hatred was, he doubted he ever had.

"Even better," Voldemort said quietly. "Now do it, Harry. And if I think you're holding back, I'll finish the job for you."

Harry gulped, meeting Draco's eyes. Draco nodded almost imperceptibly, as if giving Harry permission to continue. Feeling numb, he raised his wand, trying in vain to conjure every remembrance of Draco's cruelties back at Hogwarts, yet found it wasn't enough. So once again, he thought of Snape. Even his current circumstances could be somehow laid at Snape's feet, and he closed his eyes briefly, imagining Snape in all his greasy haired, hook-nosed glory.

"_Crucio_!" he screamed, even more fiercely than he had with Wormtail. He could hardly bear to look as Draco began twitching uncontrollably on the ground, somehow transferring Snape's bat-like visage on Draco's fair one. Draco screamed after a moment; as Harry knew, it was unavoidable. Yet the scream nearly caused his hand to falter, and he gripped his wand tightly, concentrating with ever fiber of his being.

After an eternity, Voldemort finally told him to stop. He looked extremely pleased, surveying the scene in delight. Harry stood extremely still, breathing heavily. In front of him, Draco attempted with trembling arms to pull himself upright. Harry waited fearfully for Voldemort to speak, while meanwhile, he and Draco were unnaturally still; a morbid tableau.

"You seemed to enjoy that quite a bit, Harry," Voldemort said finally, satisfaction dripping from his voice. "Just out of curiosity, what were you thinking of?"

Harry's head snapped up, meeting Voldemort's gaze head-on. "I was thinking about Snape," he said disdainfully. "If you really want me to apply myself toward your sick games, you should give me a shot at the greasy git."

Voldemort chuckled at that. "All in good time, Harry. All in good time. As it is, _Professor_ Snape is quite useful to me in able-bodied form. But of course, things can change quite rapidly, as I'm sure you're aware." He smiled at Harry's silence.

"Now," Voldemort continued, "This has all been very impressive but I'm still not sure just how dedicated you are." His eyes narrowed. "I want you to prove your loyalty to me, Harry.

Harry felt a sickening wave of dread pass through him. He knew exactly what was being asked of him even as he asked, "What do you want me to do?"

"Come, come. I'm sure you can think of something," Voldemort glanced impassively at Draco, "creative."

Harry closed his eyes briefly. And decided to take a risk.

Before anyone could react, Harry whirled around, immediately spotting his intended target, and cast a fierce Cruciatus on Lucius Malfoy. Ironically enough, it was Draco he thought of this time. Harry let the hate flow through his body; if not for Lucius and his allegiances Draco wouldn't be here at all. And Harry wouldn't be here torturing him.

As he ended the curse, Harry realized Voldemort was laughing, a sick grating sound on Harry's frayed nerves as he turned slowly to face him.

"How very… brave of you," Voldemort spoke, sounded delighted. "It just gets easier and easier, doesn't it, Harry?" his voice lowered slightly. "What would Dumbledore think of you now?"

The rage Harry had been fighting so valiantly to withhold exploded.

"Don't talk about him!" he shouted. It took all of Harry's willpower not to raise his wand. He was positively aching to hurt someone, _anyone_, and the realization terrified him.

Voldemort didn't appear remotely concerned about his outburst. He inclined his head slightly. "Fair enough," he said calmly. "If I'm satisfied with you today, I'll decline from mentioning your former Headmaster. Now, please continue. On," he gestured backwards, "the proper person this time."

The tone of Voldemort's comments could just have easily been asking Harry to pour him a cup of tea.

Harry's pulse was pounding so hard in his temples that he was sure a vein would pop out at any moment. He looked at Draco. His former schoolmate was standing shakily, completely blanched of all color, and looking far more composed than seemed possible given the situation. Unflinchingly, he met Harry's eyes.

"I'm sorry…" Harry whispered. Then, "_Crucio!_"

Draco collapsed hard to the ground, crying out and throwing his head back in agony. Harry didn't allow himself to waver. This time he focused entirely on Voldemort, on what he was forcing him to do, on the sick choice between torturing someone or watching them be killed.

Silently he urged Draco to pass out and, when he didn't, cursed him for his strong constitution against pain. An eternity passed. Finally, mercifully, the sounds of suffering gave way to silence.

Harry threw his wand down. Shudders of revulsion wracked through him and he wrapped his arms tightly around his body. Tearing his eyes from Draco's twitching form, Harry fixed them angrily on Voldemort.

"Am I done?" he spat.

Voldemort smiled. "For now."

Moving to leave, Harry glanced at Draco worriedly and turned back around.

"What about him?" he asked.

Voldemort's cold gaze met his. "What about him? When he wakes up, I'm sure he'll figure out a way to get back to his room. Then again, there's no telling what might happen before he reaches that point."

A ripple of cruel laughter swept the room. Harry noted that Lucius, leaning heavily against the wall, was not laughing.

Harry took a deep breath. He remembered all too vaguely the look of hunger, and maybe something even more sinister, on Greyback's face a few days earlier. There was no way he would leave Draco to face that in his current state. Especially since Harry was responsible for it.

"I'll take him back," Harry announced firmly.

Voldemort considered him for a moment then shrugged, a slight smirk twisting his mouth. "His life, as I've said, is in your hands. Only I obviously cannot entrust your wand to you, Harry, for obvious reasons. Nor can I permit you to use young Draco's wand…and yes, I have ways of finding these things out. So I guess you'll have to do it manually." His smirk widened as he apparently became more delighted with his train of thought. "That is, if you're able. If not…"

His meaning hung threateningly unsaid between them. But Harry needed no further encouragement. Without a word, he closed the gap between himself and Draco and, willing himself to find the strength necessary, slid an arm under Draco's knees and back - and lifted.

For a sickening moment Harry didn't think he could do it. He simply wasn't strong enough. After weeks of near-starvation, torture, and general inactivity, even Draco's too-thin form might as well have been a boulder in his arms.

But the alternative was unbearable.

Using every reserved ounce of strength and willpower in him, Harry gained his footing. A few tentative steps later, Draco hanging limp as a doll from his arms, Harry knew they would make it. He left the ballroom without turning around. But the feeling of Voldemort's gaze burning into his back, most likely angry Harry hadn't failed, didn't fade until they were some distance down the hall.

Several minutes later, Harry realized he had never before appreciated just how big Malfoy Manor was. It wasn't the directions he was having a problem with; he was used to navigating the winding stairways and corridors of Hogwarts. It was the sheer distance. Already his arms and legs were shaking from the effort, and sweat poured down his face and back despite the relatively cool temperatures of the house. Draco's occasional violent tremors were doing nothing to help his balance, either.

Deciding resting a moment to be a better alternative than risking a complete collapse, Harry, as carefully as possible, sank to his knees and laid Draco on the floor. He then sat down himself and pulled Draco halfway into his lap, holding his head gingerly on one thigh and silently stroked his damp blond hair out of his eyes.

Draco stirred slightly. "…Harry?..." His eyes slid open slowly, dull and hazed with pain, and looked up into Harry's.

"Yeah," Harry replied quietly, continuing to stroke his hair soothingly. Upon seeing him, Draco relaxed into Harry's arms, emitting a soft sigh and letting his eyelids fall shut.

Harry's stomach twisted with guilt. Draco really did trust him, like he'd said earlier. Even after what had just happened.

"I'm so sorry…" Harry whispered.

Draco snorted softly but didn't open his eyes again. "Don't… be an idiot… Potter," he spoke hoarsely, small raw breaths punctuating each pause. "He would've… killed us both…"

Harry felt the insane urge to laugh and cry simultaneously. Barely conscious and probably half-delirious with pain, and Draco could still be reproachful to him.

A few minutes passed and Harry knew they should keep going. He looked down at Draco in concern, unsure if he'd lost consciousness again, and gently touched his cheek. He stirred slightly.

"Draco?" Harry waited. He'd almost decided Draco hadn't heard him when he finally responded.

"What?" his voice was barely audible.

"We've got to get back to your room…" Harry paused, hating himself for asking anything of the other boy at the moment. "Do you think… do you think you could help some?"

A particularly violent tremor ran through Draco then, but, as it passed, he nodded his head ever so slightly. Taking a steadying breath, Harry shifted their positions so Draco's arm was slung over Harry's shoulders and one of his own around Draco's bony back. Slowly, very slowly, they stood up and continued down the hallway. Draco leaned almost entirely on Harry but made a valiant effort to walk nonetheless. Harry had never been so thankful for Draco's stubbornness. Though this was easier than before, he was fairly certain he couldn't have made it any further without help.

"We made it!" Harry managed to gasp several minutes later. The doors to his and Draco's rooms were only a few feet away and, as wonderful as Harry had found his bed last night, now it looked positively heaven-sent. He didn't even consider for a moment to take Draco to his own room, as obviously he would need looking after for a few hours, so they shuffled slowly into Harry's own room and collapsed heavily on the bed.

After a moment of catching his breath, Harry rose wearily to his feet and pulled Draco the rest of the way onto the bed. He didn't move, even as Harry gently removed his boots and pulled the neatly made blankets down and over his trembling form.

"Trash-bin…" Draco whispered suddenly, opening his eyes and attempting to pull himself into a semi-sitting position. Harry didn't need to be told twice. As quickly as his taxed muscles would allow, he ran to the bathroom and returned with a waste-basket. The second it was in place, Draco leaned over and was tidily sick. Once he was finished, Harry returned to the bathroom and flushed the mess down the toilet, very glad to see the waste-basket had been charmed to repel any contents from sticking.

With a damp washcloth Harry wiped Draco's lips gently, even though he pulled away slightly as Harry's hand held the back of his head.

"Ow," Draco complained softly. Harry mumbled an apology.

After a final trip to the bathroom, Harry returned and stood uncertainly over the bed. He had absolutely no idea what to do. Draco had either closed his eyes again or passed out, and he was still shaking quite profusely despite the blankets layered over him.

Completely forgetting the awkwardness from a couple hours ago, Harry kicked off his trainers and slid quickly under the covers. Both lying on their sides, Harry molded his body to Draco's and wrapped a supporting arm around his chest. At first Draco stiffened but after a moment he relaxed against Harry.

"…You move…fast…Harry…" he said a few seconds later.

A small smile tugged at Harry's lips. "Shutup, Malfoy."

Slowly Draco's shaking subsided and soon it was obvious by his breathing he'd fallen into an exhausted, but natural, sleep. Right before Harry succumbed to sleep himself he thought he felt Draco's hand slide into his and grip tightly.

* * *

Upon waking, Harry was at once aware of two things. First of all, he was holding Draco as steadfast as a child would hold a teddy bear. And secondly, Draco had shifted at some point in his sleep, and was currently facing Harry. His face was buried in the crook of Harry's neck, his lips softly brushing the skin there. Harry carefully attempted to disentangle himself from Draco's embrace, fearing the embarrassment that would follow from a more lucid Draco. This movement apparently caused Draco's grip to tighten more fiercely, and he mumbled incoherently as he haphazardly threw a leg over Harry's.

It was at this moment that Harry noticed something else, something potentially catastrophic in its embarrassment potential; he was hard. Immediately, he pulled away from Draco, ignoring his mumbled protests. Sitting up, the covers strategically covering his lap, he rubbed a hand over his forehead. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Finally awake, I see?" a scathingly cold voice asked. Fumbling for his glasses, Harry blinked in surprise to see Narcissa Malfoy sitting patiently in an armchair across the room. Her legs were crossed carefully and a single foot bobbed impatiently; her face, carefully made-up as always, wore its usual look of bored disdain. Harry remembered how he had described Narcissa once, back in fourth year, as looking as if she had "dung under her nose," and had successfully gotten a rise out of Draco. She wore that expression now, her scrutiny making Harry feel as if he were twelve.

"Er, hi," Harry said stupidly, running a hand through his bedraggled hair and thanking whatever deity that he had pulled the blanket over his lap.

"It's a fine mess you've managed to drag my son into," Narcissa sneered, her blue eyes glinting with white fire.

"I didn't mean to!" Harry protested angrily, then composing himself, added, "And besides, if it weren't for you and your husband's messed up beliefs, none of this would be happening to him."

Expecting a vehement protest, Harry was surprised when Narcissa merely gave a nod of acquiesce, a strange look passing across her impassive features. "You think I don't know that, Potter?" she said softly.

"Oh," Harry said, not knowing what else to say.

"But be that as it may," she continued, "through some perverse sense of irony, you're now responsible for his life." She took a trembling breath, clasping her white hands together in her lap. "I would do anything for my son, Potter, do you understand? Anything."

Not waiting for Harry to respond, she continued haltingly. "I want to know if you plan on taking your responsibility seriously. Because if you're not - Dark Lord be damned, I'll kill you myself."

She sat back, watching Harry with a glacial stare. Harry gulped nervously, his fingers twisting about in the blankets.

"I_am_ taking it seriously," he said with sudden resolve, finding the nerve to meet her glare. Beside him, Draco stirred slightly. In sleep he looked stunningly peaceful, filling Harry with a fiercely protective emotion that threatened to choke him. "I…care about him."

"Do you?" Narcissa asked softly. Her eyes swept over the scene in front of her; Draco sleeping peacefully next to Harry. "Do you love him?" she asked bluntly, her lips curling slightly in disdain.

"I…what?" Harry sputtered, his heart beating rapidly. Of all the questions he had expected Narcissa to ask, this was the last one he could have imagined. He didn't love him, that much was certain. Because love couldn't be what he felt for Draco, it couldn't be such a raw, visceral feeling. Harry thought back quickly over the way he had felt about Cho and Ginny, and decided his feelings for Draco in no way mirrored those. No, it wasn't love; it was…something else entirely.

Obviously not expecting an answer, Narcissa looked strangely satisfied. Rising to her feet, she walked to Draco's side of the bed, brushing the hair carefully from his forehead.

"Will you watch over him, Potter?" she asked softly, her voice surprisingly non-scathing. "You wouldn't know it, but he's actually hurt quite easily."

Harry almost started at her words, as they very closely resembled his own revelation some nights ago.

"Yeah, I will," Harry said quietly. "I won't let anything happen to him, I promise."

Narcissa nodded, meeting Harry's eyes briefly. Unexpectedly, she reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze.

"Thank you," she said in a tremulous voice. Letting go of Harry's hand, she reached into the pocket of her robe, producing a potion bottle.

"Give this to him when he's awake," she said quietly. "And Potter, it goes without saying that this will stay between us. I'll deny it entirely if you choose to disclose it."

"I won't," Harry nearly snapped, his dislike of Narcissa Malfoy, which had momentarily abated, rising to the forefront once more. He snatched the potion bottle from her hand, scowling slightly.

Narcissa also returned to status quo, her features once more fixing into a mask of cool indifference. She smiled coldly at him, rising to her full height.

"It also goes without saying that I'll hold you personally responsible if any harm befalls my son. Remember that, Potter."

Harry glared at her as she left the room, and for some reason, found he couldn't stop shaking.

* * *

Draco awoke in sufficient agony, the aftereffects of the Cruciatus curse still lingering, as indicated by his pounding head and crushing nausea. It was a feeling he was already reluctantly acquainted with, particularly as of the last two weeks. He wondered, fleetingly, what he would be doing if he had accepted Dumbledore's offer. He'd probably be safely hidden somewhere, bored out of his skull, waiting for Potter to win the war. Or maybe, instead of hiding he would be part of that ragamuffin group…the Order, or whatever it was called.

It was useless to think that way, Draco knew. Even if he had taken Dumbledore up on his offer, Snape would have killed him anyway. Wouldn't he?

He heard Harry clear his throat beside him, and he blinked as his face swam into focus. It was then he realized they were on a bed – together, and had apparently both been sleeping. Blurred images from earlier in the day flashed through his mind; waking up briefly, oddly comforted to find he was with Harry. Harry putting him to bed, Harry holding a trash bin for him to get sick into, Harry wiping all traces of sick off Draco's mouth, and finally, Harry climbing in bed beside him, the two of them curling together like a couple of pill bugs. Harry…

Draco managed to wearily pull himself into a sitting position, uncomfortable at the flood of emotion his thoughts provoked. Harry stared at him, biting his lip as if in deep thought.

"How do you feel?" he asked softly, a look of honest concern furrowing his brows.

He felt like shit, but Harry was the last person he wanted to admit that to.

"Fine," he said shortly, not looking at Harry. Then, mainly because he was feeling so inexplicably vulnerable, he simply _had _to make some cutting remark, anything to obscure the fact that all he really wanted was to throw himself at Harry and thank him, kiss him…

"If you really wanted me in your bed _this_ badly, Potter, all you had to do was ask," Draco drawled sardonically, a difficult task considering his head was pounding so hard he was almost afraid his eyeballs would pop out.

His remark obviously didn't have the desired effect, because Harry grinned widely, chuckling softly. He reached over, ruffling Draco's hair slightly, an oddly tender expression on his face. Draco looked at him in surprise which must have shown, because Harry's expression immediately sobered.

"Your mum brought you this," he said, producing a potion bottle. "She came while you were sleeping."

"My mother?" he asked dumbly. That meant his mother had seen the two of them, lying in bed together like lovers…oh god.

"Er, yeah," Harry said, looking slightly confused. "Well, here." Draco wordlessly took the small bottle from Harry. His hands shook with tremors as he tried to unplug the cork, and he cursed under his breath as he nearly dropped the bottle.

Harry's hand immediately closed over his, steadying it. "Let me," he said softly, taking the bottle back from Draco. Draco watched as Harry easily pulled out the cork, and without a word he brought the bottle to Draco's lips, a hand gently holding the back of his head. Draco gulped it down quickly, closing his eyes as he felt Harry's fingers brush ever so softly over his lips. A heartbeat later and the touch was gone, and he felt Harry shift to the far side of the bed.

"I'm sorry," he heard Harry whisper. "I don't know…"

Maybe it was the potion talking, but for some reason Draco felt compelled to brazenly say, "I wasn't complaining." His voice sounded breathless, even to his own ears, and he wondered what was wrong with him lately.

Harry looked at him sideways, his eyes darkening slightly. "What are you saying, Draco?"

Draco gulped, feeling bolder by the minute. The potion had brought immediate relief, and the pain of only moments before now seemed secondary to the increasing tightness in his pants.

"I'm saying that I liked it," he said, his voice shakier than he'd intended. "I'm saying you can do whatever you want to me."

He heard Harry draw in a sharp breath, felt the weight on the bed shift as Harry leaned toward him, cupping his chin. Draco closed his eyes, his lips parting slightly, waiting…

Nothing happened. Harry gave a trembling sigh, releasing his hold on Draco's face. Draco stared at him in disbelief, unsure of whether he felt relieved or disappointed.

"Why would you say that?" Harry asked him, his breaths choppy.

Draco pulled his arms around himself, shivering slightly, ignoring Harry's thinly veiled look of concern.

"Because," he said with a shrug. "You helped me out, earlier. I owe you."

Harry drew back as if slapped in the face, and Draco wondered why seeing that gesture could make him feel so shredded inside.

"That's sick, Malfoy," Harry said angrily, rising quickly out of the bed.

Draco managed a customary sneer, despite a very real inclination to pull Harry against him and tell him he hadn't meant it. But pride won out, and he sprawled easily against the pillows, fixing Harry with a cold smile.

"What, did I hurt ickle Harry's feelings?" he said in a mock-baby voice. "Honestly, Potter, I was only giving you what you obviously wanted. And ponce that I am, it's not as if I would object to a quick and dirty fuck." He smirked, hating himself more by the minute.

The anger on Harry's face dissipated, giving rise to a wounded expression. "Is that what you think I want?" Harry said softly. "A quick and dirty fuck to pay me back?"

"Oh, I forget, you Gryffindors call it making love," he batted his eyelashes mockingly, his smirk widening. "Call it what you want, Potter, but a fuck is a fuck."

Harry just stared at him in hurt disbelief for a second, and Draco had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from taking it all back.

"Why are you being like this?" Harry asked shakily.

Draco shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant. "It's who I am."

Harry closed his eyes, a myriad of emotions passing over his face. He opened them, fixing Draco with a penetrating glare.

"No, it's not. And that, Malfoy, is why you're a bastard." He turned on his heel, walking toward their adjoining bedroom door.

"Where the hell are you going?" Draco asked him snidely.

"Away from you," Harry answered back, equally snide. "Before I forget why I care to save you at all."

The words caused Draco pause, and before he could think better of it, he yelled, "I never asked you to fucking save me!"

Harry ignored him, slamming the door behind him. Draco stared at the door for awhile, wondering why, when by all means he should feel victorious, he merely felt empty.

Author's Note: Please review? I'll send you e-chocolate!


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Thank you to all the lovely reviewers – you know who you are!

**Okay, so I'm reposting this chapter with a few things added into it to clear some stuff up – two people are writing this, so sometimes we get ahead of ourselves and forget that just because we've talked about something to death, it doesn't mean you guys will know about it! Basically, all that's added occurs during Harry and Draco's conversation after the Burrow…and that's all I'm saying since I'm sure not everyone's read it! So if you haven't, don't even worry about it ******

After nearly an hour of lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, Draco pushed back the covers with resolve. Harry had retreated into _his _room, after all, and if he thought he could keep Draco out of his own room, he was sadly mistaken. Plus, to be quite honest, he was lonely. Not that he would ever admit that to Harry, of course.

Stalking across the room, he grasped the door handle and twisted, only to discover it was locked. He nearly pulled out his wand to spell the door open, but something made him lower it, and instead he just knocked.

Harry answered after a moment, scowling slightly. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco could hardly bear to look him in the eyes. He'd hurt him somehow, quite badly, and had likely destroyed the tenuous connection they had begun to forge. And he was sorry. He nearly opened his mouth to say just that, but remembered himself just in time.

"I was bored," he said instead, pushing easily past Harry and flopping onto a nearby armchair.

Harry snorted. "That's hardly my problem." He stood uneasily in the doorway, as if torn between staying or leaving. Finally, with a sigh of resignation he closed the door, sitting on the edge of Draco's bed without a word.

"Look," Harry finally said in a soft voice. "I've been thinking, and I want you to know that I'm sorry if I was presumptuous in any way. Just because I…feel a certain way about you doesn't mean you should feel the same. I guess I just assumed…because of the kiss and all, and I shouldn't have. But Draco," he said roughly, looking at his hands. "I can't believe you think you owe me something. And if I've done anything to make it seem that way…I'm sorry."

Draco stared at him in disbelief. "You're apologizing to _me_?" he squeaked. "I acted like a complete arsehole and you're the one apologizing? Has anybody ever told you that you have a bit of a guilt complex, Potter?"

Harry smiled at him sheepishly, and Draco felt an unsettling wave of affection. "Among other things."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Draco said quietly. "I don't know why I said that, exactly, but it had nothing to do with you." He looked at the ground, feeling the blood drain from his face at the admission. Then, feeling as if he had nothing more to lose, he mumbled incoherently, "Youcanstillkissmeifyouwant."

Harry gave a noticeable start. "What did you say?" he asked quietly, blinking in surprise.

Draco gulped, then with brashness befitting of a Gryffindor, said, "I want you to kiss me, Harry. Please," he finished in a hoarse whisper.

That was all the prompting Harry needed, because in the next instant he was nearly straddling Draco on the armchair, his hands trembling slightly as he pushed the hair out of Draco's eyes. Then his lips were crushing Draco's, biting gently at his lower lip, tongue brushing softly between his lips. Draco opened his mouth, giving a small moan as Harry's tongue collided with his. Then Harry's mouth was everywhere, pressing wet kisses all over Draco's face as if devouring him. Draco gasped, threading his fingers through Harry's wild hair as his tongue brushed over Draco's earlobe and began trailing down his neck, nipping slightly just above his collarbone. Draco gave a near sob as he felt what was undoubtedly Harry's erection grind against his own, then Harry pulled back reluctantly, despite Draco's sound of protest.

"Is this okay?" he asked breathlessly, the pupils of his green eyes dilated with arousal.

"Fuck yes," Draco answered immediately, and was just pulling Harry back to him when a loud cracking sound caused them both to jump.

Ginger, a house elf named solely for the single ginger hair on her otherwise bald head, stood in the middle of Draco's room, blinking bemusedly at them. Harry drew quickly away from Draco, sitting once more on the end of the bed.

"What the fuck?" Draco yelled angrily, causing the house elf to cower to the floor.

"Ginger is sorry to interrupt Master Draco!" the elf squeaked. "Ginger will iron her hands for two hours as punishment!"

Draco rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair. "That isn't necessary. Just don't mention this…incident to anybody. Okay, Ginger?"

Ginger's lip trembled slightly, tears welling in her eyes. "Ginger would never share a wizard's business with nobody! Master Draco must think I is a bad elf!"

Draco refrained from rolling his eyes again. "Okay, whatever. I don't think you're a bad elf. Now just tell me why you're here, alright?" He avoided Harry's eyes throughout the exchange, fearing he would see the telltale signs of regret.

Ginger nodded solemnly. "You is going on a mission with Harry Potter, Master Draco. You is going to the ballroom first."

He glanced over at Harry, feeling his chest clench painfully. Harry met his gaze, his expression dark and unreadable.

Draco nodded. "Okay. We'll be down there in a second." He gave Ginger a pointed glance. "You can leave."

"Yes, Master Draco," she squeaked, and then Disapparated.

"So," Draco said quietly, still not looking at Harry. "It begins." He rose to his feet.

"Yeah," Harry said softly, standing as well. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Draco said shortly, walking to the door. "We'd better go."

Harry sighed and nodded curtly.

They walked with deliberate slowness, equally nervous and frightened of what lay ahead. Draco stole occasional glances at Harry's rigid profile, noting his habit of chewing on his lower lip with a fluttery feeling in his stomach. Just minutes ago those lips had been devouring his own, trailing burning kisses down his face, his neck, over his collarbone… He wondered where they would have ended up without the interruption… Draco shook his head and scowled. What the hell was wrong with him? Here they were, once again walking towards impending doom, and all he could think about was reenacting, continuing that kiss. Maybe they could even do it in front of Voldemort. That would certainly throw him off. Draco scowled deeper.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

"We'll be fine," Harry responded softly, misinterpreting Draco's terse comment.

_Unless this mission involves a bedroom, I doubt it._

"Of course we will," Draco replied, forcing a tight smile.

Upon entry, the ballroom appeared utterly empty save for Voldemort, contrary to the leering crowd gathered several hours ago. This did nothing to quell Draco's nerves. If not for Harry's iron resolve, he might have stayed glued to the entrance; instead they marched firmly - well, Harry marched, Draco trailed - right up to Voldemort.

The grey, reptilian face, seemingly lost in thought, didn't acknowledge them for several minutes. Draco fought the urge to fidget. He glanced at Harry and nearly rolled his eyes. Arms crossed over his chest, face set defiantly, he was the very picture of a petulant teenager.

"Feeling better, Draco?" Voldemort asked suddenly, as if noticing them for the first time.

"He's brilliant," Harry snapped before Draco could open his mouth. Voldemort looked up, smiling slightly.

"Of course he is. Under your tender care, Harry, I have no doubt."

For a startling moment Draco considered Ginger may have shared her findings after all. If ordered by Lord Voldemort, she would have little choice in the matter.

Harry's replied coldly, "I've had plenty of chances to kill Malfoy before. What makes you think I'd let him die now? Be pretty irresponsible of me, wouldn't it."

A flush rose on Draco's neck while Voldemort chuckled softly.

"Indeed it would, Harry. Indeed it would." He paused, sweeping his gaze over Draco, who lowered his eyes obediently. Harry was the only person he knew, Death Eater and non-Death Eater alike, who dared not to. Now Voldemort laughed outright.

"Look how well I've got him trained!" he laughed, as if sharing in some inside joke with Harry. Only Harry wasn't smiling.

"Trained on what?" he asked, restrained anger present in Harry's voice. "Loyalty or fear?"

Draco desperately wished they would stop discussing him.

"Don't you see, Harry?" Voldemort hissed. The smirk on his deformed face had vanished. "It doesn't matter. Do you think any of the great Wizards of the past relied solely on _loyalty_ to command their followers? Fear is a far greater motivator than loyalty, Harry. You should know. Consider why you're following my orders now. You're not loyal to me. You're afraid."

"I'm not afraid of you!" Harry spat, hands clenching at his sides.

_You're wrong,_ Draco recalled Harry's words. _I do get scared. All the time, in fact. _But maybe he wasn't afraid of Voldemort. For some insane reason, Draco realized he hoped this was true. Maybe then, his own fear wouldn't feel so incapacitating.

"No?" Voldemort asked, widening his eyes slightly. "But you are afraid of what I can do, aren't you? You're afraid of me killing young Draco here. Isn't that right? Or are you obeying me for some other reason, Harry?"

The ensuing silence was answer enough. Draco yearned to take Harry's hand in his own, for both their sakes. Of course, that wasn't an option at the moment.

"Now," Voldemort continued, "down to business. You are both going on a little outing this evening. In only a few minutes in fact."

Draco's face drained of whatever color he'd managed to regain since the morning.

"You want me to kill someone?" he asked hoarsely.

"Did anyone ask you to speak?" Voldemort growled, glaring dangerously. Draco snapped his mouth shut but his pulse continued to pound deafeningly loud.

"And, no," Voldemort went on after a moment. "After your pathetic attempt last time? If you can't manage to kill a sick old man I seriously doubt you'd do any better given another quarry. But Harry, now that's another story, isn't it?"

"I'm not killing anyone," Harry reminded him, needlessly. "And you said I get to choose."

Voldemort leaned forward slightly. "That I did. And that is why one more person will be accompanying you two tonight. Someone I have complete faith in to finish the job."

Nausea crept up through Draco's belly as Fenrir Greyback stepped out from the shadows. His yellow eyes shone eerily with the ever-present hungry gleam as he glanced over Harry and Draco; the possibilities of coming through this excursion unscathed were rapidly decreasing.

"Glad to have me along, Master Draco?" Greyback purred, settling close enough behind Draco that his rotten breath blew against the back of his neck. "I hear," he continued, leaning closer still, "that children may be present."

Suddenly Greyback's hands were sliding roughly down his arms and Draco flinched away violently. Greyback's grip only tightened. "Not that you don't smell delicious enough already."

"Don't fucking touch him!" And there was Harry, acting the typical Gryffindor, physically shoving Greyback off Draco. The werewolf growled angrily, fumbling for his wand, but Voldemort's sharp reprimand gave him pause.

"Harry's right, my friend," Voldemort sounded vaguely amused. "Draco belongs to him at the moment. And I doubt he's willing to share."

Greyback backed up a few steps, glaring daggers into Harry. "Shame," he muttered dejectedly, baring his teeth.

Draco bristled slightly. He didn't fucking belong to anybody… Not that he wasn't glad for Harry's intervention just the same.

Harry, meanwhile, stood protectively close. His upper arm brushed lightly against Draco's and Draco shivered. He felt Harry's concerned glance but refused to meet his eyes.

"Now that we've sorted that out," Voldemort eyed them pointedly for a moment, "the flower-vase behind Greyback is a Portkey that will take you to the correct location. I expect you all back within the hour. If you should fail…Well, I'm sure you can figure it out."

As if in a daze, Draco followed Harry to the vase and knelt down, uncomfortably close to Greyback once again.

"Ready?" Greyback asked, grinning widely, hand already in place. Harry and Draco met eyes briefly. At once they closed their hands over the vase and vanished with a sickening jerk.

Once the world had realigned itself, Draco took a moment to sort out his bearings. Clearly, they were in a house of some sort, although it appeared uninhabited. Harry stood to his left, their shoulders barely brushing.

Greyback grinned at them, the hungry gleam in his eyes more prominent than ever.

"Well boys, here we are." He sniffed the air, his nostrils flaring. He paced silently back and forth, sniffing all the while.

"Where is here?" Harry asked rudely, crossing his arms over his chest once again. Greyback snarled slightly, lunging just short of Harry. Harry stood his ground, barely flinching, even as Draco felt his own limbs jerk spastically in terror. It was then he remembered that Harry didn't even have a wand and was essentially defenseless, and Draco felt instantly ashamed of himself as he inched even closer to Harry. What a fucking coward he was.

Greyback's brought his face revoltingly close to Harry's, and from where Draco was standing he could smell the nauseating odor of his rotten breath.

"You'd do best to watch your tone with me, _Harry_," he growled. He leaned in intimately, taking a deep sniff. Harry was still as a statue, closing his eyes as Greyback's tongue lapped slightly on his neck. After an agonizing moment, Greyback pulled back, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he surveyed the two of them. His head inclined toward Draco, and Draco couldn't help but take an unconscious step backward.

"I can smell you on him," Greyback whispered in a throaty growl. He smiled, displaying his sharp, decaying teeth, leaning uncomfortably close to Draco. Draco's pulse pounded deafeningly in his ears, and he wondered if Greyback could hear it. "And I can smell your fear, young Malfoy. It smells delicious."

"You never answered my question," Harry said in a terse voice, glaring at Greyback. Even without a wand, he still managed to exude such raw power that even Greyback seemed slightly awed, and he stepped back with a snarl.

"What does it look like?"

"It looks like an abandoned house," Harry answered curtly. "So I take it this is our mission? Sit around in some abandoned house and let you manhandle us?"

Draco closed his eyes, wishing that Harry would simply stop while he was ahead.

Greyback chuckled darkly at that, his feral eyes gleaming. "I would like nothing better, I can assure you. Unfortunately, I have my orders." He turned around brusquely, snarling over his shoulder. "Follow me."

"You still didn't answer me!" Harry yelled.

Greyback whirled around with a growl. "I'm losing patience with you, Potter. If you must know, we believe some Mudbloods and their children are hiding in this hovel." He smiled at both of them, and at Harry in particular. "I wonder which one you'll choose, Harry. One of the parents, perhaps? I'd be delighted to keep the children for my own."

Draco felt a wave of nausea crush over him, and glancing at Harry's white face, knew he was feeling similarly. They continued following Greyback, as he led them through room after room, sniffing thoroughly each time. The house did appear uninhabited; it was littered with broken glass and cigarette butts, and the air had the stale, musty smell of a long boarded up house.

"Maybe they're already gone," he said quietly to Harry. "It doesn't look like anybody's living here."

"Maybe," Harry said in a noncommittal tone as they began following Greyback up a set of stairs. The steps appeared rotten, and Draco wondered how the upstairs floorboards could possibly contain their combined weight. Greyback, however, appeared unconcerned. If anything, his gait had become bouncier, and he sniffed the air even more frequently like a demented hound dog.

Draco felt an ominous feeling sink to the pit of his stomach as they entered what had once been a bedroom. Someone was there, a fact that was made obvious by a dimly burning candle balanced precariously between two rotten floorboards. Greyback perused the room greedily, his eyes gleaming with hunger.

It was then that Draco saw them; nearly obscured behind a moldy curtain, two children, a boy who appeared as young as five and a girl who couldn't have been older than seven or eight, huddled unnaturally still. The boy's eyes met his briefly, widening in terror, and Draco silently begged him to be quiet. But it was no use. The boy gave a start, billowing the curtains slightly, and Greyback stalked over and eagerly ripped away the curtain.

Both of the children screamed, their skinny arms engulfing the other, their stringy, straw-colored hair meshing together. Greyback let out a delighted laugh, sniffing with a gleeful expression.

"Where are your parents?" Greyback growled. The girl sniffed, then looked up with a fierce expression that vaguely reminded Draco of Harry.

"The Ministry took them for being Muggleborn," she said in a firm voice, even as her tears left streaks down her filthy face. "Me and Jack ran and hid in the woods, and we've been staying here ever since." The boy, Jack, began to cry softly, hiding his face on the girl's shoulder.

Draco stole a glance at Harry, who was watching the children blankly, a dark expression furrowing his brows.

Greyback strode toward Harry, licking his lips sickeningly. "Make your choice, Potter," he growled impatiently. "It makes no difference to me, I'm sure their tender skin will be delicious no matter what." The girl gave a slight whimper at that, and Greyback's smile broadened.

In a floury of movement, Harry pushed Greyback forcibly away from the children, placing himself in front of them.

Greyback snarled fiercely, advancing slowly toward Harry and the children.

"We had a deal, Potter," he said darkly, creeping stealthily towards Harry. Harry stood unflinchingly, both of the children grasping desperately at his legs.

Barely aware of what he was doing, Draco rushed forward with lightning speed, reaching his hand into Greyback's robes and pulling out his wand. Apparently so involved in his thrill at terrifying the children, Greyback didn't appear to notice, and he lunged toward Harry with a snarl.

As if acting on pure reflex, Draco pointed with Greyback's wand at the advancing figure.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" He screamed. There was a shocking burst of green light, and then a sickening thump as Greyback's body hit the moldy floorboards.

Feeling his entire body shaking, the wand fell from Draco's hand with a clatter. Harry was staring at him in a shocked sort of awe, his eyes as intensely green as the light which had ended Greyback's life.

"I killed someone," Draco muttered. "I'm a killer now." Yet even as he said the words, he felt no regret, merely astonishment at his own actions. Harry was supposed to be the brave one, not him, and he wondered fleetingly if this was what courage really felt like.

Harry walked forward, taking one of Draco's shaking hands in his. "Malfoy, we've got to do something about the children. We can't just leave them here."

Draco nodded, taking a deep breath. "You're right." He took a shaky step toward the terrified children, jumping with surprise when Jack clung steadfast to his leg, staring up at him with teary eyes. Feeling awkward, as he always did when around small children, he scooped the boy into his arms. He was feather-light and small boned, reminding Draco of a fragile baby bird. Jack's arms and legs wrapped monkey-like around him, and he lowered his head to Draco's shoulder with a shuddering sigh.

Harry crouched in front of the girl, who eyed him warily.

"What's your name?" he asked her.

"Lily," she answered, and Draco saw Harry give the slightest of starts, probably from hearing his mother's name. "Are you who I think you are?" she asked him in a small voice.

"Probably," Harry said with a slight shrug. "But it doesn't matter who I am. What matters is that we're going to take you and Jack somewhere safe, alright?"

The girl nodded, and with a look of resolution laced her fingers with Harry's and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

Turning to Draco, he asked, "Do you think you can Side-Along all of us?"

Draco nodded numbly, still feeling out of sorts. "Yeah," he answered hoarsely. He might as well; he was dead anyway once Voldemort found out he'd killed Greyback. "Where did you have in mind?"

"The Burrow," Harry said immediately. "Apparate just outside the wards, then send your Patronus to tell them about the children. We can Obliviate them just before we leave," he said softly.

Draco wondered for a moment why Harry would even consider returning to Malfoy Manor, and his confusion must have shown.

"We need to come back here before we do anything," Harry told him in a near whisper. "I'll explain later."

Draco nodded once again, shifting Jack slightly to grasp onto Harry's arm. In turn, Harry pulled Lily against him, nodding at Draco to continue. Draco closed his eyes and concentrated, feeling the disconcerting squeeze of Apparition.

A split second later, they were standing huddled in a marshy field. Draco kept his eyes shut for a moment, feeling decidedly dizzy, and when he opened them Harry's concerned gaze met his own.

"Can you send a Patronus?" Harry asked, keeping his voice purposefully low. "Direct it to Mrs. Weasley and tell her there are two children out here. And that they're in danger."

Draco nodded jerkily. Breaking eye-contact with Harry, he gazed into the foggy darkness, cut into ever so slightly by the Burrow's distant lights. He felt like laughing suddenly. To send a Patronus you had to find a strong, happy memory, one that could override all current ones. How the hell was he supposed to find that right now? He'd just killed- no, murdered- an important Death Eater and he and Harry were facing certain death, no matter what.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" Draco's voice sounded thin to his own ears and he wasn't surprised to see wispy, silvery strands floating from his wand tip in response.

"Draco?" Harry's soft voice.

Swallowing, Draco glanced down, accidentally meeting two pairs of desperate brown eyes as he did. Lily, again strangely reminiscent of Harry, attempted a brave smile. Draco's stomach clenched painfully. He raised his wand again in solemn resolve.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

This time, Draco's Patronus burst forth instantly and glided away into the night. It wasn't exactly a happy thought, knowing the kids would live while he and Harry would not, but it had been enough to cast the charm.

Realizing it would only be a matter of seconds before a herd of Weasleys descended upon them, Draco gently disentangled Jack's limbs from around him and lowered the small boy to the ground. Lily wrapped her arm protectively around her younger brother's shoulders and looked up gratefully, tears glistening in her eyes.

"Thanks," she whispered, then turned to Harry. "I'm going to tell everyone they were wrong about you, you know."

Draco looked at Harry. He was staring toward the Burrow and trembling slightly. Someone had just opened the front door; a flash of red-gold hair caught the light.

"Thank you, Lily," he answered quietly. Then gave a barely perceptible nod.

"_Obliviate_," Draco whispered. A second later Harry gripped his hand tightly and they Disapparated.

Wintery air exchanged itself for the stench of Greyback's body immediately upon return, and Draco's stomach roiled uncomfortably.

"Why didn't you stay?" Draco asked bluntly, yanking his hand from Harry's and distancing himself a few steps. Harry seemed both surprised and saddened by the question.

"You just saved my life," he answered slowly, "Do you think I would just leave you now?"

Draco laughed humorlessly. "Saved your life?" he sneered. "I've just signed a death warrant for us both!" Realizing he was acting like a complete maniac, but unable to stop himself, Draco began pacing back and forth, shaking his head slightly.

"I could've just stunned him," he muttered, more to himself than anything. "Cast a memory charm or something…"

"Draco, stop," Harry ordered gently, grabbing hold of Draco's arm as he passed. Draco shoved him away roughly.

"What the hell is wrong with, Potter?!" he yelled. "Get the fuck out of here while you still can! There's no way you're getting yourself out of this one!"

"Don't you think I know that?" Harry yelled in return, yet maddeningly devoid of anger just the same. He took a step closer to Draco. "We can both leave. Right now! Go back to the Burrow and forget any of this ever happened!"

Draco wrapped his arms tightly about his chest as he paced. "Even if I was willing to leave my parents to their deaths," he sneered, "do you think I can just waltz around of my own free will?" Stopping, Draco shoved up a sleeve, baring his obscenely branded forearm.

"See this, Potter?" he shook his arm meaningfully toward Harry. "Do you think the Dark Lord is an idiot? This isn't just here so he can call us; it's here so can find us, whenever he wants and wherever we are."

Harry stared quietly at his arm for a moment, something akin to revulsion settling across his features.

"Yeah, you get it now, don't you?" Draco laughed harshly. It sounded more like a sob than anything. "I'm branded like a fucking piece of meat! Which is exactly what I am to him!" He resumed his pacing, compelled by Harry's continued silence to keep talking.

"Feel free to run off to Granger and the Weasel now, Potter. Wouldn't want them to worry. Especially wouldn't want them to find you here, fraternizing with the biggest fucking coward in the history of wizards." Draco continued to rant even as he turned away completely. "Maybe when I get back, he'll think of something really creative before he kills me. Like turn me into some pathetic animal or something…What the fuck are you doing, Potter? Get out of here!"

Harry fists clenched at his sides. "Get a grip, Malfoy! I'm not leaving. If I leave, you're dead!" He was suddenly gripping Draco's shoulders again, whirling him around forcefully to face him. He looked furious and Draco stared back, wide-eyed.

"I promised nothing would happen to you, alright?" Harry's voice was dangerously soft and grew lower as he continued. "You said you trust me, didn't you? Well, I trust you too. And I know we can figure this out." His grip tightened. Draco winced but didn't look away. "I'm not going to quit and run, so just shut the hell up and help me think of something!"

All of a sudden freezing cold, Draco shivered, rolling his eyes slightly like a frightened animal.

"If only I'd been born a Gryffindor," he griped, looking up, "I'd be as insanely confident as you. Maybe even-"

Harry's lips were crushing his suddenly and Draco's words dissolved into a groan. He leaned into Harry, grasping his face with both hands, and returned the kiss forcefully, almost desperately. When they pulled apart, Draco closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Harry's, both breathing harshly.

"You used Greyback's wand to cast the curse," Harry said, after a moment of silence. "Why?"

Draco shrugged half-heartedly, not caring to break the moment. "Seemed strangely appropriate."

In truth, Draco wasn't sure. Now, in retrospect, it seemed even stranger; his own wand in his hand and he'd lunged for Greyback's, almost instinctively. It really didn't make sense.

"Greyback said there were supposed to be others here," Draco went on, frowning. A skeleton of an idea was forming in his mind. Like any other situation, talking it out was the only way he knew to make any sense of it.

"Obviously, they would've fought back," Harry interjected slowly, catching on.

"And Greyback would've fired off curses without thinking about it… without asking you first…"

"And someone deflected it back," Harry finished for him, raising his head. They stared at each other for a moment, nervous excitement intermingling with fear.

Draco took a deep breath. "This could work," he whispered. Harry nodded slightly. His face clouded over abruptly and he cursed.

"What?" Draco asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"I can't do Occlumency," Harry admitted, looking ill with distress. "If Voldemort uses it on me he'll see everything."

Neither of them spoke but Draco's mind was working rapidly.

"I know of a spell," he said, a bit hesitantly, "It's a like a memory transplant almost. I would take something from you, and give you something in return. And it would probably seem a bit jumbled, being fake, but we could blame that on being stunned or something."

Harry's eyes had widened slightly. "You know how to do this?"

Draco shrugged. "Well, in theory. I've never actually done it before."

The distressed look on Harry's face didn't ease much. "Why do I have a feeling I won't like what you're going to say next?"

"I can do it, I'm quite sure. So then I can hide that memory from him." Draco took a deep breath. "But I'm not sure if I can put the memory back later."

The silence compelled him to continue.

"That's the even more theoretical part of the whole thing," he hurriedly explained. "Making it work in reverse. I mean, I'll try of course, but this is really advanced magic. Way beyond a seventh year."

Harry was standing completely still, looking down. "I'd be stuck with the fake memory then… I wouldn't know anything what we just did…"

"I'll tell you everything later," Draco promised. He smiled very slightly. "And I imagine we can make up for the other parts."

Harry nodded. "I imagine so. If we're not killed first that is."

Draco groaned. "Way to kill the moment, Potter." But when Harry looked up he was smiling slightly as well. Impulsively, Draco gripped Harry's face and kissed him hard before pulling away breathlessly.

"For luck," Draco explained. "Because we'll need it."

"It'll work," Harry said softly, a fiercely intense look on his face. "I trust you."

Draco felt a wave of unexplained bliss at Harry's words, and he raised his wand to Harry's temple with a new-found resolve. Harry met his gaze briefly, and Draco felt his breath catch.

"I'm going to do the spell now, okay?" he asked quietly. Harry nodded, closing his eyes as Draco's wand lightly prodded his skull. Concentrating with all his might, Draco whispered, "_Muto Memoria."_ A curious power coursed through Draco and extended to Harry, almost as if an invisible string was connecting them, allowing Draco to compel Harry's thoughts as he saw fit. There was a reason the spell wasn't on the Hogwarts curriculum, as its inherent similarities to the Imperius curse caused it to be considered Dark in nature. Draco had come across the spell in his father's library the summer after fifth year, and had been intrigued by the idea of manipulating another person's thoughts. But now…

Draco sifted carefully through Harry's latest memories, placing them well beneath the surface of his mind. They were still there, but were so deliberately hidden that even Legilimency would not reveal them.

Now came the tricky part. Concentrating with all his might, Draco centered in on the stream of memories that began with gripping the Portkey. He allowed the memory to play out for a moment, then deliberately began swaying it. The spell worked more by power of suggestion than anything else; by simply suggesting different scenarios, the brain was fooled into believing it had actually occurred, thus creating a false memory. So Draco concentrated carefully, willing Harry to remember the two of them arriving into the house with Greyback and finding the children, then being surprised when out of nowhere a man appeared, stealing Greyback's wand and killing him. Draco ended the memory by suggesting that Harry had been stunned by the stranger and was currently unconscious.

Feeling drained, Draco at last broke off the spell, gently lowering Harry's unconscious form to the floor. Draco crouched at his side.

"_Ennervate_," he said softly. Harry's eyes flew open, wide behind his glasses.

"Draco? What happened?" He sat up with a groan, his hand clutching his head. "What the hell did he hit me with, anyway? It feels as if someone's been rearranging furniture in my head."

Even though Harry had agreed to the spell, Draco couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, and he averted his eyes from Harry's.

"Greyback's dead."

Harry's gaze flitted to Greyback's motionless form, his eyes narrowing.

"Good," he said finally. His eyes came to rest on Draco's face, his brow furrowing in concern. "Are you alright?"

Draco nodded, and unable to help himself, ran his fingers through Harry's messy hair. Then he sighed, his hand stilling and dropping back at his side. "We'd better get back."

Author's Note: Review and I'll love you forever!


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: First off, thanks again to all the awesome people who left comments. And in case anyone read the last chapter before I made revisions…well, I made revisions! Basically, I explained why exactly Harry and Draco can't just up and leave. So you may want to go back and read that part (it's right after they leave the Burrow). As I said in the new note I added to the last chapter, two people are writing this, so sometimes we get mixed up. But we're both very, very sorry if there was any confusion. With that said, hope you enjoy the new chapter!**

**Chapter Ten**

After being tugged forward by the Portkey, Draco and Harry crashed back into the ballroom with a sickening jerk. Voldemort stood exactly where they'd left him, once again seemingly steeped in contemplation. He looked up slowly upon their arrival, his reptilian features betraying nothing.

"Harry, Draco," he hissed softly. "So nice of you to return." There was something coldly calculating about his expression and for a moment Draco wondered if despite his best efforts, Voldemort knew everything.

Draco shivered slightly as Voldemort swept closer to them, and beside him Harry's shoulder brushed against his.

"So," Voldemort said in an icy voice. "Tell me just what I should make of this, hmm? My most loyal servant doesn't return despite being ordered to do so, and instead my prisoner and his idiotically inept guard do return." He paced deliberately back and forth in front of them, running a hand thoughtfully over his wand occasionally. "Very curious indeed."

"My Lord," Draco began haltingly, lowering his eyes to the floor. "One of the Mudbloods snuck up on us and killed Greyback. He left before I could do anything."

Voldemort looked oddly thoughtful for a moment, then sneered in disgust at Draco. "As if you would have done anything, you pathetic excuse for a pureblood." He gave a dangerous smirk. "Knowing you, you probably cowered behind Harry as usual, am I right?"

There was a time when Voldemort's words would have stung, but now he silently rejoiced, and knew exactly why Voldemort would never suspect him of any sleight of hand; he didn't believe Draco had the courage to ever work against him. So he simply accepted Voldemort's words with slumping shoulders, his head dropping even lower.

"No," Voldemort continued. "You lack both the brains and the charisma to ever openly defy me, Draco. Much like your father," he concluded with a malice-filled smile.

His snakelike head inclined in Harry's direction. "But you, on the other hand…now that is a different story."

Harry scowled. "You know I wouldn't do anything," he snapped. "Not after the deal we made."

Voldemort looked positively gleeful at this. "Oh yes," he said cheerfully. "I would never forget our bargain, Harry." He glided closer, halting so that his nose-less face was mere inches from Harry's. His pitiless eyes bore fiercely into Harry's, who met his gaze unflinchingly.

After a moment, Voldemort's gaze retracted, and he whirled around harshly in a flurry of robes and began walking away.

"I want you both out of my sight," he snapped. Jerking his head back in their direction, he said flatly, "Now."

Draco stole a look at Harry, who was watching Voldemort's retreat with an intense look of hatred.

"Come on," Draco said, brushing his fingers lightly over Harry's arm. Harry turned his head to Draco, blinking as if surprised to see him there. He nodded, and together the two of them walked silently back to Draco's room.

Upon entering his room, Draco closed the door immediately and cast a silencing spell around them. Harry sank dully onto the corner of Draco's bed, drudging up memories of their earlier snogging session. Draco mentally shook himself; now was not the time.

"Is it a bad thing that I'm glad Greyback is dead?" Harry asked finally.

"No," Draco said firmly, sitting next to Harry. "I'm glad too." He sighed, rubbing his gritty eyes with the back of his hand.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Harry asked, concern evident in his green eyes.

Draco gave a halfhearted chuckle. "Potter, do you realize how many times you've asked me that lately?"

Harry blinked. "Oh. Er, sorry."

Draco smirked at him, giving him a faux punch in the shoulder. "You don't have to apologize, you git. I was just making an observation."

"Oh," Harry said again, biting his lip thoughtfully. His eyes met intensely with Draco's then, and Draco was unable to break the gaze.

Brashly, Draco gripped the back of Harry's head, drawing their mouths together. Harry gave a contented sigh, his lips parting instantly. Draco felt a hand lightly grip the back of his neck, the other inching under his shirt to caress his abdomen. He allowed Harry to lower him onto his back, and the next thing he knew Harry was licking and sucking on his neck. He held back a barely suppressed moan when Harry lifted his shirt, his lips laving over Draco's nipples and down his abdomen.

"Harry," he said breathlessly as Harry's hand fumbled with his zipper, inadvertently brushing against his blood-engorged cock. He bit his lip, holding back a moan. "Harry, I've got to tell you something."

Harry's hand stilled, and Draco could feel the evidence of his arousal as Harry straddled his hips. "What?" he asked, his eyes dark.

Draco gave a desperate sound as Harry ground his hips against his. "Please," he managed to gasp. "I can't concentrate like this."

Harry nodded, reluctantly pulling himself off Draco. "Okay," he said finally, his breathing ragged and erratic. "What is it?"

Draco sat up, attempting to control his own breathing. "Earlier, at the house, something happened and I had to use a spell on you to change your memory so he wouldn't see it."

Harry frowned slightly, then nodded in acceptance. "Okay. Well, can you tell me what happened, then?"

"I can do better," Draco said, fumbling for his wand out of his discarded robes. "Just – trust me, okay?"

"Of course," Harry said immediately, as if any other option was unfeasible.

Ignoring the ridiculously warm feeling in his chest, Draco raised his wand to Harry's temple. "_Reddio Memoria_." Once again Draco felt the familiar pull as Harry's mind was accessible to him. But this time, he carefully restored the distorted and hidden memories. Finally satisfied, Draco broke the spell.

Harry stared at him, a slight look of wonder on his face. "Wow," he said finally. "You really know your stuff, don't you?"

Draco snorted, a self-deprecating sound. "Yes, Potter. For a never-ending supply of Dark and illegal spells, just ask Draco Malfoy."

"I don't know about that," Harry said softly. "But I do know that you saved both of us tonight. And those children…" Harry trailed off.

"I just can't believe I killed somebody," Draco said quietly, not looking at Harry. "Dumbledore…" the name was rough in his mouth, and he cleared his throat to continue. "That night…he told me I wasn't a killer."

"You're not," Harry said quickly, soothingly. "Killing Greyback doesn't make you a killer. It makes you one of the bravest people I've ever met."

Draco had to laugh at that. "Right. I'm so brave that I suppose when all this is over, I'll have to go to the Sorting Hat and ask if it made a mistake not putting me in Gryffindor."

"It's our choices that define who we are," Harry said carefully, as if reciting some sacred litany. "I'm pretty sure the world isn't divided into four types of people."

Draco would have said something else, but in the next instant their mouths were inexplicably on each other again, this time moving so desperately that Draco's jaw began to ache. Gripping Harry's face fiercely, he planted kisses all along his stubbly jaw line and down his neck.

"Draco," Harry whispered softly, as if in prayer. "God, Draco."

Hearing his first name sent a surge of blood straight to his groin, and Draco roughly pushed Harry onto his back, and without preamble, unbuttoned his jeans. Harry gave an incoherent moan as Draco's hand wrapped around his cock. In turn, he pulled out his own erection and rubbed it against Harry's, unable to suppress his own moan.

It was over in barely a moment. Harry gave a great cry, his hips pulsing forward as a hot liquid poured into Draco's hand, and undoubtedly, on his clothes. Draco felt the insistent tug of his own approaching orgasm, and he sank his head to Harry's shoulder, biting softly as he came into his hand and over Harry.

For an indiscriminant amount of time afterwards, they lay like that - Draco straddling Harry's hips, heaving chests pressed together, both relishing in the blissful aftereffects of their orgasms. Harry began absently tracing his fingers up and down Draco's spine and he sighed, very content to never move again.

Inevitably, they did move, if only to find a more comfortable position. Lying face to face, Draco smiled at Harry as he directed his wand over them and cast a quick cleansing spell. Harry blushed slightly and smiled back. Averse to separating completely, and by unspoken agreement, they settled against each other, closely as possible. Draco wrapped his leg over Harry's, Harry encircled Draco's waist with an arm and continued to draw feather-light circles with his finger.

Draco supposed he must have dozed off for a few minutes because when he opened his eyes again, Harry was watching him with a slight smile tugging at his lips.

"What?" Draco asked, attempting to sound irritated, failing rather miserably.

"Just remembered something," Harry said. His voice took on a teasing note as he continued. "About your Patronus."

A hot blush crept instantly up Draco's neck.

"What about it?"

Harry's smile widened. "A weasel?"

Draco shrugged, a nonchalant air about him as he jutted his chin out slightly. "So? Weasels are cunning, devious, and unique creatures. Much like myself."

"But after all your cracks about Ron, all these years," Harry persisted, "don't you find it slightly amusing that _that_ ended up being your Patronus?"

"I suppose thinking about you and your friends ingrained it on my soul."

Grinning, Harry said, "Well, at least it wasn't a ferret."

Draco groaned dramatically and rolled over. It took some effort to detangle himself, especially with Harry grabbing his shirt to pull him back down, but eventually Draco made it to his feet. He looked down at Harry who, adoringly, looked rather alarmed.

Draco resisted a smirk. Did he honestly think he was that easily upset?

"Where are you going?" Harry asked.

"Strange though it may be," Draco drawled lazily, crossing his arms, "some people find showering quite enjoyable. I understand it's a novel idea, Potter, but you really should try it once in awhile."

Harry rolled his eyes with a grin and flopped back down on the bed. "I'll think about it."

Twenty minutes and a scalding hot shower later, Draco, with naught but a towel wrapped about his waist, stepped out of the shower. And nearly ran into Harry.

"Normally you wait until the shower's free, you know," Draco quipped, taking a step back. But Harry didn't appear to be listening. His face, so flushed with pleasure a few minutes ago, had drained of all color, taking on a startlingly sick hue.

"Harry?" Draco frowned. He then realized why Harry wouldn't meet his eyes; instead they were glued steadfastly to his chest. More specifically, to the jagged pink scar there, marring the otherwise pallor of his skin.

Draco closed his eyes for a second and exhaled slowly.

"Look, Harry," he said haltingly, "just… don't worry about it, alright?"

When Harry looked up his eyes were wide. "I didn't know," he whispered, "When I cast that curse, I had no idea what it would do."

"But you did know what the Cruciatus would do," Draco reminded him with a shrug. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable of Harry's continued scrutiny. "And that's what I tried to cast on you. So fair is fair."

Before Draco could stop him, Harry had reached out a hand and laid it down gently, just over the hollow of Draco's throat. Where the scar started.

Instinctively, Draco grabbed his wrist, but the expression on Harry's face stopped him.

"I complained, you know," Harry continued, softly tracing his fingers down Draco's skin, "I thought Snape giving me detention was too harsh. I mean, you were back in class. You looked fine. I didn't know…"

Draco stopped Harry's hand as it reached his abdomen. He shivered. "And if you had known, would you have cared?"

For a moment, Harry looked ready to nod, but then he set his mouth grimly and shook his head. "I don't know." He looked utterly miserable.

"I was a Death Eater, Harry. It would've been one down for the side of light."

"No!" Harry said venomously, "I never wanted to hurt anyone! Not even you. When I saw what I'd done, when I thought you might die, it was like… like I'd become just as bad as Voldemort."

Harry's attention drifted briefly, obviously recalling the bloody scene in his memory. Draco honestly didn't remember much past the curse-throwing part. He didn't really care to.

Harry pressed on. "And besides, you weren't really a Death Eater. You were trying to save your family."

Draco sighed. "None of that matters now, Harry. So, let's just, move on. Or something. Maybe you could even let me get dressed."

Not waiting for a reply, Draco moved swiftly around Harry and reached for his clothes.

"Draco?"

Currently tugging a shirt over his damp hair, Draco paused.

"Yeah?"

"… I'm really sorry…"

A moment passed. "I know," Draco replied softly, quickly running a comb through his fine hair. A part of him wanted to say that he too, was sorry – for so much, but decided that some things should remain unsaid. At least for the time being.

Harry opened his mouth as if to say something else, then apparently changed his mind, his lips pursing together. "I'm going to take a shower, too," he said finally.

Draco managed a teasing smirk. "Thank God."

Harry gave him a light shove, unable to hide the smile tugging his lips upward. "You're such a prat."

Draco raised an eyebrow, leaning heavily against the bathroom doorway. "That's why you find me irresistible, Potter," he drawled lazily, blowing Harry a kiss as he closed the door behind him.

He practically fell into his bed, suddenly feeling a weariness that coursed through the very marrow of his bones. The events of the day crashed over him in a relentless cacophony, and he shivered slightly, curling into a ball. He must have dozed off again, because he was suddenly fuzzily aware of the bed dipping slightly, and of a warm body crawling in beside him.

"Harry?" he said sleepily, sliding slightly backwards so as to be closer to Harry's warmth and the comforting smell of soap, toothpaste, and something uniquely Harry. Harry's arms encircled him, his chin resting on Draco's shoulder. Draco secretly wondered how they could possibly sleep with their bodies so impossibly entwined, yet found himself drifting off nonetheless.

"Draco?" Harry's voice harshly snapped him out of his near sleep, and he gave a small mumble in response.

"I'll never hurt you again, you know?" Harry's voice was hoarse, sounding suspiciously as if he'd been crying. His grip on Draco tightened almost painfully. "And I won't let anyone else hurt you either. I'll kill them first."

Draco managed to disentangle himself just enough so that he was facing Harry, although the darkness prevented him from fully seeing his face. "Stop it," Draco said more harshly than he'd intended. Immediately, he grabbed Harry's face with both hands and kissed him – salty tears and all.

Letting his forehead rest against Harry's, Draco soothingly traced a finger down his back. "Give me some credit, Harry. I'm a Slytherin, remember? Resourceful and conniving and all that. I know how to lay low. It's you I'm worried about," he said softly, finding in a startling moment of revelation that it was true; the thought of something happening to Harry was far more troubling than even the thought of his own demise. It was a shocking thought, and he wondered when things had changed so dramatically.

"Don't wanna lose you," Harry mumbled, half-asleep.

"You won't," Draco assured him in a whisper, feeling tears prick behind his eyelids. He swallowed the lump in his throat, kissing Harry softly on the forehead. "You won't. Now get some sleep."

Harry's breathing eventually subsided into soft snores, but Draco lay awake long into the night, and when he did finally dream, it was of Harry.

* * *

Harry dreamed as well, once again a strange mesh of the past and present. He was nine this time, and back in the cupboard; this time after the teakettle had somehow exploded, sending scalding water flying across the room. Some of it had splashed his arm, leaving it excruciating and red, and unable to help himself, he'd cried out for Aunt Petunia. He had been savvy enough to not expect sympathy, yet had at least hoped that his aunt would offer some relief for his pain. 

Instead, her eyes had furiously taken in the scene in the kitchen; the exploded teakettle on one side, and Harry with his reddened arm. Her eyes had flashed with something like pure hatred, and she'd slapped Harry in the face before he'd had time to register the look. Stomping furiously to the freezer, she pulled out a pack of frozen peas, thrusting it into Harry's trembling hands. Without another word she yanked Harry forward by his good arm, pushing him towards the cupboard under the stairs.

"Get in there, you _freak_," Petunia had snapped, slamming the cupboard door shut. Now, in reality, Harry had next curled into a shuddering ball on his mattress, the bag of frozen peas stinging like fire against his burned arm, and he'd slept fitfully until the next morning when Dudley threw a shoe at him to wake him – so he could make breakfast. But as it was now a dream, Draco was there as well, looking every bit as young and lost as Harry.

"Why don't you just leave?" Draco asked softly. "It's dark in here and full of spiders."

"I can't!" Harry said sharply, feeling oddly panicked by the question. "Why don't you?"

Draco inclined his head sadly. "That's impossible," he murmured, drawing back his sleeve. There, marring the baby flesh of his arm was the Dark Mark. The snake perversely flickered to life against Draco's skin, flicking its tongue at Harry.

"_He's mine_," the snake hissed in Parseltongue.

"No!" Harry screamed, and reaching for the snake, proceeded to strangle it. It finally lay limply still against Draco's arm, and Harry stepped back, his breathing ragged. Then he saw that Draco, no longer a child but the present day Draco, was lying deathly still as well, his skin chalky and his eyes fixed. Harry gave a great sob, shaking Draco so desperately that his head bobbed lifelessly like a broken puppet.

Something was shaking his shoulders, and in the next instant the horrors of the cupboard had vanished as his eyes fluttered open, replaced with Draco's blurred image.

"Harry, wake up!" Draco said loudly, giving him a final shake. Harry blinked in confusion for a moment, then sat up, his hand automatically reaching for his glasses and perching them on his face. There was light streaming in through the curtained windows; apparently it was morning.

Draco drew back from Harry slightly, obvious concern clouding his gray eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked nervously. "You were screaming and thrashing…you said my name a couple times."

Harry nodded, his pulse finally settling on a normal rhythm. As with most nightmares, the terror and sadness seemed to be driven away by sunlight; all but forgotten by day until the last sinking dot of the sun allowed them safe haven once again.

He managed a reassuring smile at Draco, who still looked incredibly worried. "It was just a dream. I'm fine."

And just because he _could_, a fact that still seemed incredible to Harry given who they were, he pulled Draco against him, kissing him with slight desperation. Draco moaned in response, his tongue pushing past Harry's parted lips to smash against his. Draco's fingers dug into the backs of his shoulders so fiercely he was sure there would be marks, and in turn he nipped lightly at Draco's neck.

Then, as if by unspoken agreement they were laying side to side, facing each other, their legs tangled slightly. Threading his fingers through Draco's feather-like hair, Harry continued his assault on Draco's neck, pleased at the small moans and whimpers he elicited. Something hard nudged his leg, and Harry reached between them to rub at the bulge in Draco's boxers. Draco let out a strangled gasp, nudging his hips forward to lean into Harry's touch. Harry snaked his hand under the elastic waistband, firmly grasping and moving his hand over Draco's cock. This caused Draco to buck forward uncontrollably, panting an explicit string of words that would have caused even Voldemort to blush.

Painfully hard as well, Harry let out a near sob when he felt Draco's hand close over his own erection, and in the next few moments there was silence save for the labored sounds of harsh breathing and the wet slap of skin. Finally, Draco let out a tortured sounding moan, and Harry felt the familiar warm stickiness over his hand. Draco's grip on Harry had tightened somehow, and one last squeeze was all it took to send Harry over the edge.

They both lay there panting for a moment, smiling stupidly at each other for the second time in twenty four hours. Draco cast another cleaning charm, and Harry fought desperately against the urge to be embarrassed.

Instead, he nudged Draco's leg with his bare foot. "You're incredible."

Draco grinned unabashedly, leaning back against the pillows with his hands behind his head. "You're not bad yourself, Potter."

"Well, I've had a lot of practice. On myself, I mean," he stuttered after Draco gave him an amused look.

Draco guffawed slightly, then a strangely thoughtful look flickered over his face. "So," he began nonchalantly. "Better or worse than Weasley? The female one, I mean," he said quickly. "Unless…you know…" he concluded with a wicked grin.

Harry gave a snort of laughter at the last comment, rolling his eyes. "Actually," he said softly after a moment, "You're the first person I've…er…done this with." And in all honesty, Draco was the first person he'd truly _wanted_ to do anything with. His short-lived romance with Ginny had been everything he'd thought romance was supposed to be; stolen glances, walks by the lake, kisses that left him wistful, but had been devoid of the all-encompassing need he somehow felt for Draco. Thinking of Ginny now simply filled him with a tender sort of nostalgia one might feel for a long-ago childhood memory, and in a way, perhaps, that was what it was.

"Really?" Draco asked quietly, giving him a surprised glance. "I thought you two were joined at the hip," he said in a casual tone which somehow still managed to be laced with insecurity.

"I cared for Ginny," Harry said softly. "I mean, I still care for her. She's my best friend's sister, after all." He sighed. "I don't know why, exactly, but at the time, it just seemed…_wrong_ for me to expect that sort of thing from Ginny. So I didn't."

"When all this is over, do you expect you'll get back with her?" Draco asked in a quiet murmur, avoiding Harry's eyes.

Harry wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry, so instead he simply swatted Draco's arm softly. "What do you think, you git?" he asked quietly. When Draco didn't answer, Harry gave a great sigh, resting his head against Draco's shoulder.

"I broke up with Ginny, Draco," Harry murmured. "And no, I don't plan on getting back with her." There was so much more to say, but as always, the right words seemed to elude Harry. So instead, he settled for a lengthy kiss that quickly became heated and urgent.

Suddenly, a loud crack resounded in the room, and once again Ginger the house elf stood trembling and wide-eyed. Draco and Harry both sat up simultaneously, Draco's face drawing into a profuse scowl.

"Don't you ever knock?" Draco snapped harshly.

Ginger's eyes filled with tears, and she gave a pathetic sniffle. "You is angry at Ginger again, Ginger understands. Ginger will bash her head against a stone later for punishment!"

Draco groaned, clutching his head as if a migraine was setting in. "For the last time, no, I don't want you to punish yourself. But next time I want you to knock. That's an order, Ginger."

Ginger let out a hiccup of a sob. "Master Draco is too kind. For years Ginger will tell stories of his greatness."

Barely suppressing a smile, Harry nudged Draco with his elbow. Draco gave a scowl, yet looked suspiciously close to laughter as well.

"Yes, that's me, Ginger. Too kind for my own good. Now, what is it this time?"

Ginger snapped her fingers, and instantly a breakfast platter and two glasses of pumpkin juice appeared. She gave a slight bow. "You is to eat your breakfast, then report in the ballroom with Harry Potter, Master Draco."

Draco nodded vaguely, running a hand over his face. Whether the gesture was made in weariness, fright, or irritation, Harry wasn't sure. He squeezed Draco's hand lightly.

"You can leave now," Draco growled a second later, looking up and finding Ginger still there. Nervously kneading her knobby hands, the elf's eyes widened to an abnormal size and she disappeared with a crack.

They ate in mutual silence. Harry couldn't help but feel their brief reprieve was about to abruptly screech to a halt - the past several hours too blissful to remain uninterrupted. Chewing listlessly on some eggs, he found his over-active mind continuously worked up new scenarios as to how that would occur. Some scenarios ended in one of their deaths, some in only separation, but each left Harry feeling colder and colder.

He glanced at Draco. Blond head bowed slightly, apparently deep in thought himself, picking faintly at his food- Harry's chest clenched painfully. Strange how things could change so drastically in only a few weeks. Harry cared for him, and it wasn't the realization that was new, only the admittance. Thus far in his life, those Harry had allowed himself to care for seemed to disappear as quickly as he'd realized they were there. His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore… In the natural progression of things, Draco would be next. Fate had never been particularly kind to Harry. Was there any real hope that it would cut him a break now?

"As delightful as this is, I'm ready to go," Draco announced, pushing back his tray with a mildly disgusted look on his face. Harry noted that he'd barely touched anything, was about to tell him that, when he saw his own tray practically full as well.

Harry shrugged. "Let's go then."

* * *

Remus Lupin was standing in the ballroom of Malfoy Manor.

Of course, he wasn't the only one standing there, but it was his ragged form that drew Harry's horrified, yet carefully blank, gaze. The sickening thought that his former professor had been captured, that he was here to be tortured and executed, surpassed any other explanations at first. Draco's barely breathed comment, as they walked to stand before Voldemort, made a lot more sense.

"This is Greyback's pack," he explained softly. Harry nodded imperceptibly and forced his eyes away from Lupin. Any interest shown on Harry's part would only endanger him further.

"Good morning, Harry, Draco," Voldemort greeted in an oily voice, leering smile twisting his mouth upward. "I trust you had a restful evening?"

Draco twitched slightly beside him. Harry scowled. "It was brilliant. What do you want?"

"Tsk, tsk, Harry," the snake-like man scolded, "Where are those manners we talked about? Surely Draco's taught you some by now."

A muscle in Harry's cheek jumped nervously and he forced his scowl to deepen. "Fine," he ground out slowly, "How was your evening, Tom?"

The complete and utter silence that followed loomed threateningly for several long moments. Voldemort, formally known as Tom Riddle, betrayed nothing in his expression, deformed face frozen in an amused sneer. Harry wasn't sure if anyone present even knew the significance of his slight, but the tension emanating from the Dark Lord was all but palpable; no one dared move.

And then Bellatrix Lestrange screamed. "You filthy scum!" Her wand was poised high above her head. "How dare you speak to the Dark Lord so!"

No curse was cast, even as her lips formed the words, as suddenly Voldemort raised a halting hand. Without removing his smoldering eyes from Harry, he nodded slightly to Bellatrix and she reluctantly lowered her arms, clearly disappointed. Draco exhaled a soft breath.

"As a matter of fact, Harry," Voldemort spoke in a low voice, "I had a rather productive evening. My faithful, if somewhat overzealous, servants located another Muggleborn and his family last night. I say overzealous, you see," his voice toned further down, "because they thought it would funny to burn down the house-" eyes glinting maliciously, "- with the family tied to the roof."

Harry felt like vomiting. Momentarily dizzy, he broke eye-contact and stared at the floor.

Voldemort seemed to find this a satisfactory reaction as his sordid smirk had returned when Harry looked back up.

"Draco, do you recognize these fine gentlemen here?"

The abrupt change in subject threw Harry for a moment, images of burning bodies and rooftops still parading about his mind. Draco, however, did not react.

Coolly, Draco glanced around. Then nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Do you have an inkling of why they're here?"

After a moment's hesitation, he answered, "Because of Greyback's death, I assume. But," Draco hesitated again, "I'm not sure what they want exactly."

Voldemort sighed. "And I always assumed you were bright. Apparently you take after your father after all."

With no clue whether Draco took this as an insult or compliment, Harry listened helplessly. He had no idea why they were here either.

"Seeing as your last outing was somewhat of a mess," Voldemort informed them conversationally, "I've decided an outing with the Pack may have a slightly more desirable outcome." He narrowed his eyes at Harry, still smiling. "No weaseling your way out of this one, Harry."

It had to be a coincidence, Harry thought frantically. But that didn't stop Voldemort's unnerving choice of words from causing his heart to beat abnormally fast.

"Where are we going?" Harry managed to choke out. The Pack was slowly encircling them, a writhing mass of dirty and diseased bodies - the stench of Greyback multiplied by nearly a dozen. Draco edged closer and Harry leaned into him as their upper-arms brushed.

"Does it matter?" Voldemort's leering voice carried easily over the heads of the werewolves. "Side-Along Apparition can be lots of fun, boys. Try not to get splinched," he finished merrily.

Harry glanced to his side, imagining his own face closely mirrored Draco's pasty, white one.

It seemed a dozen hands were reaching for them at once. And then, suddenly, someone was gripping Harry's forearm tightly, possessively, and he looked up into the tired eyes of Remus Lupin. Time slowed and sped up simultaneously, and all Harry could register was how very unemotional Lupin seemed at that moment. The world turned upside down a moment later.

"Draco," Harry breathed once they reappeared. Lupin hadn't grabbed him. Someone had, but that did little to quell Harry's fears. Lupin may have cast him a questioning look then, but a body collided roughly with Harry and he didn't notice.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked, even as Harry was gripping his shoulders firmly. Harry almost smiled.

"Isn't that my line?"

Draco glanced distrustfully past Harry, to Lupin, and sneered slightly. "Finally running with your own kind then?"

"Don't," Harry warned, with the unsettling realization that Draco knew nothing of Lupin's undercover status. He whirled around when a low growl sounded from that very direction. Harry blanched. Lupin's kind, weary face was twisted in a hideous snarl- an expression so foreign to him that it almost seemed comical. Almost.

"Don't speak to me, Malfoy," he said softly, threateningly, "or I'll have to remind you what _my kind_ are known for."

This drew a few amused snorts from the surrounding werewolves but mostly they were moving forward now. With a final, alien glare Lupin shouldered past Harry and settled easily into the crowd.

"Move it," someone growled, poking Harry's back. He didn't resist and Draco shadowed uneasily alongside him.

It wasn't quite raining. The soft mist could easily be attributed to the morning but somehow it seemed oddly appropriate. After all, Harry had never picked someone to die before. If the sun had been shining, it would have been mocking him.

The small farmhouse before them reminded Harry so much of the Burrow that he felt like crying. Head spinning liberally, he wondered if this family was as big as the Weasleys. He hoped not.

"We don't have to go in," he heard Draco snapping at someone. "He only chooses. You lot do all the dirty work."

Harry glanced at Draco, his pale, pointy features even more angular in the shadowy light, and nodded vaguely in thanks. Draco's face was strangely blank, however, and he didn't respond.

The screaming started then. All but two of the Pack disappeared into the house, a spell imploding all the doors and windows, and the desperate sounds of people screaming in terror broke the tranquil morning in half. Harry watched in a horrified daze as two, three, then four people were dragged outside. Lupin was hauling one, a teenage boy, and his haggard face remained unemotional even as he threw him harshly to the ground. The bleeding and terrified boy sobbed and curled into a ball.

Harry hazily thought that Lupin- Moony, his former professor- would do something extraordinary then and stop this debauchery. But then another body, this one limp, was unmercifully tossed to the ground beside the boy and kicked cruelly in the gut. Still Lupin did nothing.

"Oh, god," Harry was shaking, "I don't think I can do this."

"You have to!" Draco whispered harshly, clenching his fists at his sides. Harry noticed he was shaking too.

A few of the werewolves started howling, an obscene sound considering none of them would transform for another three weeks, and the last two people were deposited on the ground in bloody, whimpering heaps. The Pack surrounded them like hungry leeches, laughing, clawing, kicking. Mostly anything but biting. When they backed away several minutes later, shooed away by a man with grizzly black hair and a beard, the family had huddled together in a singular, shuddering mass.

"Alright, _Mr. Potter_," the black-haired werewolf sneered, "the Dark Lord says you haf'ta choose. Two Mudbloods go free, the other two stay with us."

The Pack exchanged chuckling glances. The family sobbed louder.

His legs seemed to have turned to jelly. Harry stepped slowly forward, eyes glued to the family he was about to tear irrevocably apart. Just as Voldemort had torn his apart sixteen years ago.

"The children," he spoke without hesitation, though his voice broke as it came out. "Let the children go."

A few murmured protests sounded, but no one attempted to undermine Harry's decision. The boy, no older than thirteen or fourteen, and a girl, only a few years younger, were dragged out of their parents' arms and thrown down. The black-haired man flicked his wand and they disappeared.

"Wait!" Harry protested, taking another step forward. "Where the hell did they go?"

The werewolf snarled, baring short yellowed teeth. "They're not here, are they?" When Harry didn't back down, he raised his wand menacingly. "Get back," he growled, "Or your pet Malfoy there will take their place."

Head pounding, Harry retreated to stand beside Draco, tightly gripping his wrist in a possessive gesture.

In front of them, the children's father - a balding, middle-aged wizard who reminded Harry vaguely of Mr. Weasley - shakily attempted to stand to his feet, only to be knocked viciously off balance by a vicious side-sweep from one of the werewolves. He landed with a startled cry.

"Filthy Mudbloods," the werewolf snarled at the couple. "You're exactly where you belong – in the dirt." Without warning he stomped on the man's fingers, a sound like twigs snapping indicating they had been broken. The man howled with pain, clutching his useless hand to his chest.

"Please!" The woman suddenly spoke, a sickening blend of saliva and blood frothing from her mouth. "We'll give you anything. We have money – we'll give you the key to our Gringotts account. Just please…" her voice trailed off, massive sobs racking her body and sending a spray of blood.

There was a roar of laughter, punctuated occasionally by mocking imitations of the woman's pleas. The black haired werewolf crouched in front of the woman, running a jagged fingernail along her cheek in an almost tender caress.

"What is it like to be hunted, hmm? To be humiliated and considered less than an _animal_?" He growled the last word, his fingernail drawing slight blood on the woman's cheek.

The man, in a seemingly last surge of strength, lunged himself at the werewolf, his injured hand still cradled to his chest. "Don't touch her!" The black haired werewolf, apparently taken by surprise, was knocked off-balance momentarily before leaping at the man with a savage growl. He effortlessly pinned the man to the ground, a demented snarl twisting his face into something inhuman. Then the woman, her body still shaking with coughs, brought a large rock down on the werewolf's head, and he fell with a doglike whine.

Immediately, chaos erupted. Howls of rage resounded as the werewolf pack descended on the couple, and Harry felt bile rise to his throat as the wolves, moving as one, began physically ripping the couple apart with teeth and hands.

Harry swayed slightly, suddenly feeling as if he might faint. A pair of hands – Draco – was holding him upright, and he didn't protest when Draco roughly spun him around.

"Don't look," Draco breathed; his head, also turned away from the carnage, was huddled close to Harry. Harry could feel Draco's body shaking, although as close as they were standing, it might have been himself. The once-peaceful morning, which just earlier had been broken only occasionally by the sounds of birds, was now a macabre blend of gurgled screams, growls, and flesh giving way to teeth. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, rocking slightly as waves of nausea crashed over him.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, there was silence. The faint smell of smoke tingled in his nostrils, and he dared to turn around, noting in a detached sort of manner that the farmhouse was on fire. A huddled, bloody mass lay in front of it, the only remains of the couple who, just moments ago, had been fighting for their lives. A slight breeze ruffled the wet, dark hair of the woman, and Harry averted his eyes to prevent from vomiting.

"Come on," the black haired werewolf, his hair slightly matted with blood, growled.

Harry actively fought off the impulse to jerk away when Remus Lupin, his clothes smelling of smoke and blood, gripped onto Harry once again.

"Alright, Harry?" Lupin asked in a barely perceptible whisper.

"Fine, _Professor_," Harry snapped, unable to keep the disgust from his voice.

Lupin simply looked tired, and he nodded his head sadly. "We'll talk later," he said in a low whisper to Harry. Harry nodded, tears clouding his vision.

This time when they Apparated, Draco's wrist remained clutched in Harry's deathlike grasp. He couldn't take the chance that one of these monsters would lay a hand on his "pet Malfoy", as they'd called him.

It would probably tax Lupin greatly to Side-Along two people. At the moment, Harry didn't really care.

The world flipped upside down momentarily and then they were once again standing in Malfoy Manor. Harry looked up into the smoldering eyes of Voldemort. He was only a few feet away and Harry took an involuntary step backward. Lupin's hand dropped from his shoulder and Harry could sense him retreating to a respectful distance, but Draco stepped with him, rather jerkily.

"Afraid he's going to run away?" Voldemort smiled, eyes flickering over them. It took Harry a moment to understand what he meant. Feeling slightly horrified, he wrenched his hand from Draco's wrist and wrapped his arms tightly around himself, looking down.

"Things went as planned," the werewolf-in-charge announced from a few feet away, sounding content and relaxed despite having just ripped apart two human beings. "And Potter did what you said. He picked the kids."

Harry could practically feel the waves of delight rolling off Voldemort as he clapped his hands in front of him.

"Your first murder, Harry," he hissed lazily, "How did it feel? How do _you_ feel, knowing those kids will forever remember you as the man who murdered their parents?" After letting the words sink in for a moment, "I do hope you appreciate the irony, Harry. I certainly do."

"Can I go back to my room now?" Harry asked quietly, stubbornly refusing to raise his eyes. He didn't want to fight. He didn't have the strength; the urge to either vomit or pass out, maybe both, creeping steadily faster through his body as the seconds passed.

"It doesn't matter to me," Voldemort replied in a sing-song voice. "Very well. You may return to your room, Harry."

Rather dazed at the simple dismissal, Harry took barely a step before jerking his head up, suddenly cold. Draco was still standing in the same spot, unmoving, a strange look on his face as he stared at the floor. He had not been given leave to go.

"Is Draco coming?" Harry asked, hoping his voice was steadier than he felt.

Voldemort contorted his face into a surprised expression. "It's Draco now, is it? Why, I don't recall you asking if he could leave, Harry."

Harry forced himself not to scowl. He was perpetually on thin ice around Voldemort, but right now there was more at stake than his own well-being. "Can Draco return to his room also?" Harry ground out slowly.

"No," Voldemort grinned as Harry blanched. "I'd rather he spent the day here with me. We're entertaining some… guests this afternoon and I've missed young Malfoy here. He makes the most interesting expressions when people are getting tortured, Harry. It's very amusing."

When Harry remained rooted to the floor, Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"He won't be touched." Sarcasm dripped liberally from Voldemort's words. "Only you get to decide that. Isn't that right? I made the deal, Harry, I haven't forgotten it. Now, I suggest you leave, as I have so graciously given you permission to do, before I get irritated."

One agonizing step after another was all Harry could manage as he left the ballroom, and Draco, behind him. He would have rather stayed, torture sessions or not, than leave Draco there by himself. He angrily kicked the wall as he rounded a corner.

Harry never saw who cast the Petrificus Totalis on him. Body frozen midstride, he would have fallen if not for the firm hands gripping his shoulders and moving him bodily through the nearest doorway. And then he was falling, landing jarringly on his back, left staring helplessly at the flourished ceiling above.

This was it then. One of the Death Eaters had grown fed up with Voldemort's mind games, or maybe they'd just gotten antsy, what with all the talk of Harry being destined to defeat the Dark Lord.

All Harry could think of was how sorry he was for leaving Draco alone.

The door shut quietly, leaving Harry trapped with his captor.

**Author's Note: Review, s'il vous plait?**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed!**

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Harry lay stiff and unmoving, feeling surprisingly detached as his captor advanced on him. So this was it then. After weeks of torture and playing Voldemort's mind games, he was going to be snuffed out like a defenseless insect. It was all so anticlimactic that Harry could all but feel the trapped laughter in his chest. He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable curse.

But instead of receiving the killing curse, a familiar voice muttered, "_Finite Incantatem,"_ and Harry immediately felt the spell dissolve off of him. Rising to his feet, Harry looked into the eyes of the spell caster – and scowled.

"Was that really necessary?" Harry snapped.

Remus Lupin sighed, his face impossibly drawn and haggard. "I apologize, Harry. It wasn't the method I would have preferred to begin a conversation with you, believe me. But if I had simply tapped you on the shoulder, you see, and you had been seen entering a room with me on your own free will, conclusions would have been drawn. At least this way, you can blame it all on me."

Lupin reached into his pocket, impossibly proffering a bar of chocolate to Harry. "You look like you need it," he said softly. Harry nodded and wordlessly took the chocolate from Lupin, barely trusting himself to speak. He felt disgusted with Lupin, and somehow, betrayed; yet simultaneously he felt disgust at himself for feeling so. After all, it wasn't as if Harry was much better; he had killed as well, however indirectly.

"I know I'm probably the last person you want to see at the moment, Harry," Lupin said quietly, not meeting Harry's eyes. "You've seen what I am…I understand if you feel repulsed by me."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry said, "There was nothing you could have done without giving away your cover. I understand that." His eyes remained glued to the floor, the tears he had fought off earlier now stinging hotly against his eyelids.

"But you can't forgive me for it, either," Lupin said in a tired voice. When Harry didn't answer, Lupin continued in a hollow voice, "That's okay, Harry. You have every right to feel that way."

Harry gave a sharp laugh which caught against his throat as a sob. "I mean, how could you? You're a good person! I know you are, and that's what makes it so disgusting! You know?" He could feel tears leaving burning tracks down his face, yet he hardly cared.

"I know," Lupin said softly, and Harry didn't even protest when Lupin drew him against him. Harry gave a great shuddering sob against his shoulder, clenching his fists into Lupin's smoky robes.

They stood that way for awhile, no sounds save for Harry's barely suppressed sobs punctuating the silence. Finally, Harry drew in a shaky breath and took a step back.

"I'm sorry," he said in a small voice.

Lupin made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Forget it. I'm just glad to see you're alright, Harry."

Harry managed a tight smile, surreptitiously swiping at his wet eyes under his glasses. "More or less. How are things…out there?"

Lupin sighed. "I won't lie to you, Harry. Things are not going well. Voldemort has infiltrated the Ministry and even Hogwarts, and each day the death toll of Muggles and Muggleborn increases. We Order members have been aware of your situation, and have been working to figure something out. Which, consequently, is why I'm here."

"I can't leave," Harry said quickly. Lupin's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion.

"Of course you can, Harry. You may not have realized it, but you left your Invisibility Cloak at the Borrow. I brought it with me," he handed Harry the Cloak, and Harry closed his fingers around the familiar material. "You can put it on and walk beside me to the Apparition point."

"I can't," Harry said quietly, tears threatening to choke him once again. "He says…he says he'll kill Draco."

"Are you sure?" Lupin asked slowly, deliberately. "Harry, Draco Malfoy's father is rather high in the Death Eater ranks, I find it hard to believe…"

"He will!" Harry said adamantly. "He almost did, once, but I told him to stop! Why is it so hard to believe?"

Lupin gave a small sigh of resignation, running a hand through his graying hair. "I believe you, Harry. But let's think about this for a moment, shall we?"

"There's nothing to think about," Harry said firmly. "I can't let him die, Remus. He – trusts – me. I couldn't…no, there's no fucking way."

"How about…he could come with us. I'll wait to leave until he's back, then the two of you can get under your Cloak and meet me."

Lupin was obviously grasping at straws, yet Harry felt a strong wave of gratitude nonetheless. Unfortunately, the idea was still impossible to consider.

"He can't leave," Harry said reluctantly. "His Dark Mark – Draco says it's some sort of tracking device that lets Voldemort always know where his Death Eaters are."

"Interesting," Lupin murmured, looking thoughtful. "That would explain why no Death Eater has ever successfully left his service."

"Yeah," Harry snapped. "Interesting."

A wave of sympathy perceptibly passed across Lupin's features. "I'm not trying to be flippant, Harry. I've seen Draco at the torture sessions; I saw how he tried to protect you earlier. I know he's not a killer, or even close. Believe me; I have nothing but sympathy for his plight."

There was a lingering _but_ at the end of the statement, and Harry waited impatiently for Lupin to continue.

"The world needs you, Harry, whatever else you may think," he breathed softly after a moment.

Harry closed his eyes, willing his breathing to settle. "Yeah, I know." He opened them, fixing Lupin with a hopeless gaze. "So what do I do?"

Lupin gave another sigh. "There has to be a way to remove the Dark Mark, or else render it useless. I'll look into it first thing."

"Thank you," Harry said softly. Then, "how are Ron and Hermione?"

Lupin gave a small smile. "They're well, as far as I know. They set off on their own shortly after you did; they said they're going to finish the task Dumbledore gave you."

The Horcruxes. Somewhere between being tortured daily and worrying for his and Draco's lives, Harry had all but put the task out of his mind. But now the thought was staggering; he and he alone was destined to kill Voldemort. It was a huge weight for anyone to carry on their shoulders, much less a seventeen year old who had grown up in a cupboard.

"Have you heard from them?" Harry asked quietly. How he longed for them at the moment; Ron, with his unwavering loyalty and simple humor, Hermione, with her infallible logic and enormous compassion. He had missed them, of course, but hearing about his friends from Lupin brought their absence into a new and sharper clarity.

"I haven't," Lupin answered. "But Molly got an owl from them a couple weeks ago; it basically just said they were alive and still working on the task. Nothing else…so I suppose no news is good news."

Harry swallowed yet another lump in his throat. "Well, if you do happen to see them, could you tell them I'm okay – and I miss them."

Lupin nodded, his eyes soft and sad. "Of course." He gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze. "Don't give up hope, Harry. We'll figure something out. And don't forget your friends are out there – and if I know that Hermione, she'll have everything sorted out as we speak."

Harry smiled wistfully. "Yeah, I wouldn't doubt it."

"You'd probably better head on now," Lupin said regretfully. "And maybe you'd better put on your Invisibility Cloak – to be on the safe side."

Harry nodded, beginning to pull on the Cloak, and then paused. "Will you be okay?" he asked softly.

Lupin gave a tight smile. "I'll be fine, Harry."

Harry greatly doubted it, but didn't comment. Instead he said, "Will I see you again soon?"

"I'll try," Lupin said carefully. "That's all I can promise."

"Thanks," Harry said quietly. "Alright…I suppose I'll see you later then."

Suddenly extremely reluctant to leave his former Professor's company, Harry lingered in front of the doorway, taking his time putting on the Cloak. Then, with a last softly spoken, "bye," he made his way through the door and down the long hallways before arriving back in his room. Along the way he encountered no one, save for a harassed looking house elf. Of course, it figured.

Once in his room, Harry threw down the cloak carelessly, then on second thought, stuffed it between his mattress. He sank onto the corner of his bed, kneading his hands against his forehead. It had been ages since his scar had given so much as a twinge – obviously Voldemort was wary enough of their connection to shield his thoughts from Harry completely. It was interesting; Harry was wandless, defenseless, yet somehow Voldemort still perceived him as a potential threat. Very interesting, indeed.

_The world still needs you_, Lupin had said. There was a part of Harry that wanted to cry and scream with frustration – after all, he was only a kid. In what sick world would people lay all their hopes on a kid, allowing him to be their sacrificial lamb? Yet all the same, Harry knew that no amount of screaming and railing would change who he was, and what he was meant to be.

There had to be a way to free Draco. And now with his Invisibility Cloak, perhaps he or Draco could peruse, unseen, through Lucius Malfoy's library. It was a risk, and could very likely end badly, but he somehow couldn't foresee things ending well for them as they were.

Inevitably, Harry's thoughts began to veer once again toward Draco. Would Draco be willing to risk his own well being – his _life_ even, if it meant freedom for himself and Harry? What if he couldn't, or even worse, wouldn't? The thought of leaving Draco, even if it was to save the world, left a cold, desolate feeling in his chest. He wondered if it was pure selfishness to care more about one person than the thousands of nameless people he would never meet, or if perhaps it was simply human nature. Did he really care about the world – or merely _his _world?

Troubling thoughts of this sort continued to parade through Harry's head; had it only been days ago when his own thoughts had occupied him for hours on end? He wasn't sure how he'd been able to stand it. Hours passed, and house elves came and went, leaving behind trays of food that Harry could barely stomach. He was, quite literally, worried sick about Draco, who had been gone for the majority of the day.

Finally, just when he thought he could take it no longer, he heard the door slam in Draco's room. Harry jumped to his feet immediately, nervously knocking at the adjoining door.

"Draco?" Harry asked timidly.

There was a sound of approaching footsteps, and then the door was flung open, revealing an ill-looking Draco.

"What do you want?" he asked in a frighteningly flat voice. His face was an emotionless mask once again, revealing nothing of the person Harry had come to know. For a moment Harry was taken aback, then reminded himself that the façade before him was just that; a façade. Draco had just spent the day watching as human beings were tortured and killed, he reminded himself - and felt ill at the thought.

Resisting the urge to simply pull Draco into his arms and will the life back into him, he said softly, "I'm so sorry."

Draco gave a nonchalant shrug, turning to lead Harry into his room. "What for?" He was noticeably shaking, yet seemed hell-bent on concealing it from Harry, nervously pacing and crossing his arms.

"Draco…"

"Don't," Draco snapped. "Just – leave it, Harry. I don't want to talk about it, to you or anyone else." His voice broke slightly on the last few words, and he quickly turned his back to Harry.

Harry approached him cautiously, suddenly with no idea of what to do. Sure, Draco had comforted him plenty of times; it surprisingly seemed to come naturally to him. Yet Harry had no idea of what to do or say, or even if Draco would appreciate his bumbling efforts.

He settled for laying a hand tentatively between Draco's trembling shoulder blades. "I want to help you," Harry said shakily, nervously biting his lower lip.

If he had expected Draco to fall into his arms, he was sadly mistaken. Draco flinched away from his touch, suddenly whirling around to face him.

"Fuck off," Draco said sharply, swiping at his red eyes. "I told you before, Potter, I don't need your pity."

"It's not pity," Harry snapped back angrily, then realizing he was reacting exactly as Draco wanted him to, took a calming breath. "I just want you to know I'm here – if you need me."

"I don't," Draco's voice caught on a bitter sob, and he sank gracelessly on the floor beside his bed, lowering his head to his raised knees. His shoulders shook several times, then he said roughly, "just leave. Please, Harry."

Harry nearly did leave, yet something made him sink down beside Draco instead.

"No," he said resolutely.

Draco didn't even bother to look up. "Whatever. Suit yourself," he said in a hoarse and scratchy voice. "Apparently you get off on my breakdowns, so I won't deny you your jollies for the day."

Harry sighed impatiently. "Like you haven't seen me cry before."

Draco didn't answer; Harry hadn't really expected him to. Instead they sat in silence for the better part of an hour, long after Draco's sobs had subsided. Harry wanted desperately to touch him, if even to just brush his arm, yet didn't dare.

Finally, Draco raised his head wearily, and Harry noted that his eyes were completely dry. "Sorry," he said in a small voice.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Harry said quietly, and meant it. And then Draco's hand was reaching for his, and Harry grasped it, squeezing tightly. Draco squeezed back, his grip threatening to crush Harry's bones, then released it with a sigh, his hand falling back onto his lap.

"Thanks," Draco said softly, his head bowing slightly. "You know I didn't mean…"

"I know."

Draco gave him a sad smile. "I know you know. But still…" Draco's voice trailed off, and he gazed wistfully out the window. The sun was just beginning to set, setting the room awash with a deceptively tranquil glow and coloring Draco's hair orange and red.

"I miss flying, don't you?" Draco asked quietly, his gaze still fixed dreamily out the window. "I think it's what I miss the most."

"I know what you mean. You know, all the fame and everything, being Harry Potter, it was never what I wanted, despite what you might have thought. Really, I would have been fine just flying."

"And catching the Snitch before me," Draco said with a self-deprecating smirk.

"You came really close, you know. You just…I was lucky, I guess."

"No, you were just better." The lights were still in Draco's hair, making him appear almost otherworldly. His face, however, was the most startling; stripped of all defenses and masks, leaving him looking wistful and very young.

"You're a good flyer, Draco," Harry said firmly. "It was always painful to acknowledge, but you are very good on a broom."

"Been eyeing my broomstick much, Potter?" Draco smirked.

Harry gave a snort of laughter. "Okay, that one was pretty pathetic. You've got to admit."

"Whatever. You laughed, didn't you? Therefore your sense of humor is pathetic."

"I felt sorry for you. It was a pity laugh."

Draco smirked again. "Right."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Anyway, all kidding about broomsticks aside, I think that when all this is over we should practice together. I mean, we'll both be a bit rusty, but I think we could help each other." Harry was unsure what had prompted the offer, after all, the odds that one or both of them wouldn't survive were stacked pretty high. Yet in the surrealism of the moment, it not only seemed possible, but somehow probable.

"Yeah," Draco said quickly and almost eagerly. As if catching himself, he added, "Any excuse to manhandle me. Right, Potter?"

"I never claimed otherwise," Harry said with a smirk of his own.

Draco gave a contented sigh, his head falling to Harry's shoulder. "I knew it. You poncy perve, you."

Harry wrapped an arm around Draco's shoulders, resting his chin on Draco's head. "Now that's the pot calling the kettle black."

"What?"

Harry smiled. "Nothing."

They sat like that for an indeterminate amount of time, neither caring to move. The sun finally fell in a last blaze of glory, and they continued to sit in the dim moonlight.

"I wish we could fly away right now," Draco said quietly. "We should, you know. We could just take off – fly to the moon or something. Even…even he wouldn't be able to reach us there."

"Too bad it's made of cheese."

Draco poked him lightly in the ribs. "You're so fucking weird."

"I know." Harry smiled, stoking Draco's hair lightly with his free hand. His hand dropped. "I'd rather live on a star, personally."

"Why? Everyone knows you're complete shit at Divination. You'd never find your way around."

"Well, I'd have you, wouldn't I? We'd manage, somehow. We could fly from star to star, all the different constellations. And when we got hungry, we'd just eat some of the moon. But then we'd go home to our star, and it would just be fire and starlight. And that's all we'd need"

"Fire and starlight," Draco murmured. "I never took you for a poet, Harry. Do you use these lines on all the girls?"

"No," Harry murmured with a smirk. "Just you."

Draco gave a slight groan against his neck. "Good thing I'm easy."

Harry grinned. "Yeah."

Draco gave a snort of laughter, then said quietly, "We could, you know. I really think we could. I think…I think we could do anything."

The comment brought Harry reluctantly back to reality, and he gently disentangled himself from Draco.

"I've been thinking," Harry began.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "Wonders never cease."

Harry ignored the comment, feeling a sudden rush of trepidation. "Draco, we really do have to get out of here. Right now it's all a game to him, but eventually, Voldemort will kill us both."

In a flash the mask was back, and Draco jumped to his feet with a scowl. "Tell me something I don't know. But were you not paying attention to what I said before, Harry? I – can't – leave. Is that clear enough? Or how about this…" he thrust up his sleeve, once again revealing the hideous mark marring his pallid skin.

"Yes, I know, but…"

"But what? What, do you want me to cut my arm off?"

"It would be better than dying!" Harry snapped, then seeing Draco's pained expression, softened his tone. "No, I don't want you to cut off your arm. But there _must _be a way to get rid of it."

"There isn't," Draco snapped, pacing and wringing his hands. "Don't you think someone out there would have thought of it? And even if I did – cut my arm off, or something equally as drastic, who's to say it wouldn't be for nothing? It's sophisticated Dark magic, Harry. The Dark Lord may be a lot of things, but stupid isn't one of them."

"But if it were possible, you would, right?" Harry asked shakily.

"It doesn't matter what I would or wouldn't do. The point is, it's impossible."

"It does matter!" Harry said roughly, his tone halting Draco in his tracks. "I need to know I can count on you. I need to know that you'll do what's right when you can, even if it's harder."

"What's right," Draco scoffed. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly the reigning expert in that department."

"Don't you dare give me that crap, Malfoy! Not after everything we've been through, and after everything I've seen you do. I _know_ that you know what's right!"

"What do you want from me?" Draco asked with a tinge of desperation. "I'm not you, Harry. I'm not strong or brave, or even particularly good of a person. I'm doing the best I fucking can, okay? And maybe it's not good enough, and maybe it doesn't even matter, but it's all I know how to do!"

He took a trembling breath, resuming his pacing, then whirled on Harry. "Yes, I would love to get out of here. I'd love to go eat cheese on the moon or whatever the fuck you were talking about, but I know I can't! And I know you think I was tricked into this," he gestured at his arm, "or that I was so naïve I didn't know what I was getting into. But I did! My mother cried every time she looked at me that summer, and I didn't even care! I wanted to hurt people, hurt _you_, Harry." He gave Harry a sad smile. "So you see? I'm getting what I deserve, aren't I?"

"No," Harry said firmly, touching Draco lightly on the arm. Draco flinched slightly, but didn't brush him away. In spite of his tirade, his eyes were fixed on Harry's, something like hope ignited in them. "We all make mistakes, Draco. I don't think it means we have to spend the rest of our lives paying for them."

"I could help you get away," Draco said suddenly, averting his eyes from Harry. "I grew up here. I know every inch, every secret passage…I could get you out of here."

"There's no way in hell I'm leaving without you," Harry said harshly. Without meaning to, his fingernails dug into Draco's forearm. Draco winced, but didn't pull away. Harry released his hold, mumbling an apology.

"He'll kill you, Draco!" Harry all but yelled in the next instant. "Do you think I could live with myself?"

"You don't know that for sure," Draco said with a scowl. "What if he's just saying that to hold you here? I could make it look like you'd wrestled my wand from me again, and then you forced me at wand-point to lead you out. It could work. And if it doesn't, well…" Draco gave a shrug, yet Harry could see the way his shoulders trembled with the gesture. "You said yourself he'll kill us eventually. At least this way, you'll live. And I'll die being something besides a sniveling coward."

Draco's insane logic nearly made sense, yet Harry couldn't allow himself to consider it.

"You're not a coward," Harry said tiredly, rubbing a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, well, whatever. The point remains, you've got to leave. I'd go with you if I could, but I can't." He turned away from Harry, wrapping his arms around himself. "I've watched a lot of people die, Harry. Please don't ask me to watch you die."

"I might die," Harry said quietly. Draco gave a sharp breath, turning his features into a scowl. "But it won't be without a fight, and I'll die knowing I did everything I could. And I'll also die with the knowledge that I never abandoned a single friend without fighting for them."

Draco inclined his head slightly, then locked eyes with Harry. "When you say things like that – that's exactly why you need to leave."

"No."

"_Please_."

"No."

Draco gave a sigh of resignation, finally ceasing his relentless pacing to sit on the edge of his bed. "Fine, you Gryffindor idiot, tell me your grand plan."

Harry smiled sheepishly, sitting next to Draco without another word. "Well, er…I don't really have one."

"Brilliant!" Draco snapped impatiently.

"I don't really have one," Harry snapped back, "but I have an idea…I talked to…someone today, someone who's on our side, and he – that is, er…this person…"

Draco sighed. "It's Lupin, isn't it? This mysterious ally of yours."

Harry frowned slightly. If Draco had noticed something amiss between him and Lupin, then surely Voldemort could have noticed as well.

"How did you know?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm not stupid, Harry. Of course I noticed the way he kept grabbing for you, and I saw him whispering something to you before we left. You Gryffindors aren't terribly keen on subtleties, you know."

Something about Draco's tone made him wince slightly. "It's not that I don't trust you…"

"Whatever," Draco said flatly. "Just continue with your enthralling tale."

"He's looking for a way to remove the Mark, okay?" Harry said angrily.

"Ha! Wonderful!" Draco gave a slight sneer. It looked out of place and fake – which of course, it was. "Your pet werewolf, who also just happens to kill people from time to time, and best of all,_works_ for the bloody Dark Lord, wants to help me _not_ work for him…hmm, notice something off here? Such as, why the fuck would he help me? Oh, that's right, he wouldn't! Are you fucking stupid, Potter?"

"He's fucking undercover!" Harry said angrily. "And whatever you think of him, he wants to help you – help us! He gave me back my Invisibility Cloak! He wanted me to leave right away, but I wouldn't…because of you!"

Draco gave a small sniff of disdain. "So sorry to inconvenience you, Potter. But nothing's stopping you now, so take your Invisibility Cloak and get the fuck out of here."

Harry grasped Draco's shoulders roughly, leaning into him so that their faces were mere inches apart. "When will you get it through your thick skull? _I'm not leaving without you_, okay? So stop fucking saying it!"

"Harry…" Draco's eyes were squeezed shut, as if he couldn't bear to look at Harry. Without a second thought, Harry closed the distance between them, brushing his lips gently over Draco's. Draco made a desperate sound in his throat, gripping Harry's face and returning the kiss with a feverish urgency.

It took every ounce of Harry's self-control to pull away, yet he did, in spite of Draco's whimper-like protests. He sighed, lowering his forehead tiredly against Draco's.

"I was thinking that one of us can take the Invisibility Cloak to your father's library. Surely he's got something that could help us there."

"I wouldn't count on it," Draco whispered, breathing heavily. As if unable to contain himself, his lips brushed lightly next to the corner of Harry's mouth. "After…the thing with the Ministry in fifth year, they came and confiscated anything remotely Dark. Whatever's in my father's library – it probably won't be much help."

"Well, we can try, can't we?" Harry bit his lip, carefully picking out how to work what he had to say next. "And there's something else we should look for too…um… Something that most people wouldn't recognize as being dark. It's not really connected to the Mark or anything but… It could help."

"What?" Draco asked curiously, though without moving.

"I'll explain later," Harry said evasively, hoping Draco would let it go, for now at least. He trusted Draco, but people didn't know about Horcruxes for a reason. Even Harry had to admit, the idea of immortality was seductive. But it was the path to achieving it that made even the most powerful wizards shudder at its very mentioning. For as long as he could, Harry hoped to save Draco from that burden.

"Well, can we go?" Harry persisted a moment later.

Draco puffed softly, tickling Harry's cheek. "Whatever. If it will make you stop whining."

"I'm whining?" Harry smiled. Draco, his hand still twined in Harry's hair, tugged gently.

"You whine all the time."

Harry pulled back slightly and raised an eyebrow in amusement. "If I ever whine, it's probably about you whining. And wanting you to stop."

Draco scowled. "I do not whine."

Before Draco could drop his hands, Harry grabbed them and squeezed. "You do whine," he insisted gently, smiling at the other boy's incredulous expression. "But it's okay. I think it's cute."

Draco rolled his eyes mightily but couldn't quite keep the smile from his face. "In less than a minute, Potter, you've told me I whine and that I'm cute. What, first cut me down and then build me up again? How Professor Snape-like of you."

Harry bristled immediately at the mention of Snape. But he knew Draco hadn't meant to upset him so he pretended to rub something out of his eye instead; as good an excuse as any to turn away.

"When did Snape ever build us back up?" Harry joked. When Draco didn't respond, he glanced back up. And was rather taken aback. Draco's face, only seconds ago so open and relaxed, was trained once again into a careful mask.

"Sorry," he said flatly, steadily meeting Harry's eyes. "I know you don't like to talk about him. After so many years, it's just, I don't know…"

"A habit?" Harry offered.

Draco shrugged lightly. "I suppose." He shot suddenly to his feet and glanced impatiently down at Harry when he didn't immediately duplicate his actions.

"Well?" Draco crossed his arms. "You wanted to go the library, right? No time like the present."

What Harry really wanted to do was remain sitting on the floor, casually touching Draco's hands, stroking his feather-soft hair, exchanging light banter; it was these momentary reprieves that allowed him the strength to continue. A shudder ran through Harry every time he considered how things would've been if not for Voldemort placing Draco on guard duty. All things considered, Voldemort had likely done it as more of a joke than anything. Harry and Draco both knew the Dark Lord didn't think highly of Draco's abilities, something they were glad for, as it had come in handy in more ways than one. And if not for that fortunate flaw in Voldemort's way of thinking, Harry would still be down there, half-dead and probably going out of his mind by now. Not that he wouldn't have come up with the same plan, but because, emotionally, Harry didn't think he could survive this on his own. And as much as Draco would never admit it, Harry knew it was the same for him.

So Harry stood.

"Hold on," he said, realizing there was one too many of them ready to go. "We can't both fit under my cloak. I mean, not anymore. We used to fit Ron, Hermione, and I all at once, but –"

"As much as I enjoy hearing tales of Gryffindors hitting puberty," Draco interrupted with a raised eyebrow, "I wasn't actually planning on going under your cloak."

"You – what?"

"I'm not banned from my father's library," Draco explained with deliberate slowness. "So I don't need to hide. Unless of course you're just looking to feel me up under that cloak, Potter?"

Harry grinned. "I suppose I can wait a bit."

Smirking suggestively, Draco inclined his head slightly toward the door. "Shall we?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, feeling a bit apprehensive all of sudden. "Just let me get my cloak and I'll meet you in the hallway."

Harry quickly slipped past Draco and back to his own room. His nerves fluttered nervously as he dug the Invisibility Cloak from under the mattress. Harry then wrapped the shimmery fabric around himself in one smooth motion and examined his reflection, or lack thereof, briefly in the mirror. It was of the utmost importance not to be seen, or noticed, by anyone. The last time Harry had let his disguise slip he'd ended up on the floor of the Hogwarts Express in a full-body bind, a broken, bloody nose, and covered with his own cloak. The irony wasn't lost on Harry that Draco had been the one responsible for that.

Satisfied with his lack of an appearance, Harry stepped quietly into the hallway, gently closing the door behind him. He was relieved to see Draco already standing there. Arms crossed casually behind his back, a bored expression was set on Draco's pale features as he examined the intricate carvings along the ceiling.

"Haven't you seen those before?" Harry whispered, coming alongside him. Draco jumped slightly in surprise.

"If you want me to act normal," he hissed, not turning his head in any particular direction, "maybe you could try _not_ sneaking up on me."

Feeling the urge to smile at the image of Draco talking to himself, Harry whispered a quick sorry. Draco acknowledged him with a small nod then began walking briskly away, clearly expecting Harry to follow. Which he did, of course, staying a careful few feet behind just to be on the safe side. If they ran into anyone, Harry could do little to warn Draco in his current state of being, if he were in front. Not to mention Harry didn't know where they were going. Malfoy Manor, Harry decided, was comparable to Hogwarts in its maze of hallways and rooms. It was no wonder Draco had always looked so supremely confident strutting around at school, as if he owned each winding corridor and changing staircase. Apparently he'd grown up navigating such in his own house.

Harry was surprised when Draco stopped outside his Lucius' study a few minutes later, looking decidedly more stiff than when they'd started.

Harry gently nudged Draco's elbow in question, as he didn't dare speak, and Draco scowled slightly. Then he raised his hand and knocked tentatively.

The door swung soundlessly open and Harry let out a silent sigh of relief when they were met by the cold, detached face of Malfoy senior. Lucius was leaning, no, slouching over his desk, his gloved hands stretched out in front, fingers splayed wide over a messy stack of parchments beneath.

"Draco," Lucius' voice was flat but a trace of emotion crossed his face as he greeted his son. Harry noted the visible lines of exhaustion creasing the normally smoothly blank face and dark bags stood out in stark contract against his ashy skin.

"Father," Draco returned civilly. If Draco was as taken aback as Harry by Lucius' uncharacteristic appearance, it didn't show.

"I was hoping to use your library," Draco continued in that same cordial tone, as if he were addressing a teacher rather than his own father.

Lucius curled his lip slightly. "There's not much left, you realize."

"I know." Draco nodded curtly. "I want to continue studying for my NEWTS while I'm here. I doubt I'll need any of what they took for that."

"You actually think you'll need to take those pathetic tests much longer?" Lucius sneered. "Soon you won't have to compete with Mudbloods any longer for your proper place in society and taking some test won't matter. I seem to recall that Granger girl beating you at every turn the past several years. Why even bother?"

Draco flushed deeply and Harry bit his tongue hard to keep from saying anything.

"Tests or not," Draco continued stiffly, "Babysitting Potter all day doesn't offer the most intellectual stimulation, so I was merely hoping for something to occupy myself with."

Lucius looked ready to emit another reprimanding comment but seemed to change his mind at the last moment, smiling slightly instead.

"No, I don't imagine he would have many intelligent things on his mind. As they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. It's amazing actually, that Potter's survived this far, considering his parents only made it a few years further."

"Amazing," Draco agreed coolly. Beside him, Harry concentrated on not jumping across the desk and strangling his father.

"You don't sound terribly enthusiastic," Lucius said, noting Draco's lack of reaction.

Draco fixed Lucius with a flat stare. "I've been rather preoccupied, Father. Looking after Potter. Not dying. Excuse me if insulting him hasn't been at the top of my list."

"Don't get snide with me, Draco," Lucius snapped, narrowing his eyes slightly. "And speaking of Potter, it seems his disrespectful attitude may have been rubbing off on you lately."

_That's not the only part of me that's been rubbing off on him lately,_ Harry thought darkly.

"Apologies," Draco returned, though there was no hint of remorse in his voice. "The last few weeks have been… stressful."

Lucius inclined his head. "I know," his tone softened, "But you must remember yourself at all times, Draco. If you allow yourself to slip in his presence…" He dropped his eyes and ran a hand wearily over his face.

Draco seemed unaffected by his father's display of emotion. If anything, Harry thought he looked faintly disgusted.

"The library?" Draco's voice was cold.

"Very well," Lucius conceded after a moment, still rather less than composed. He waved his wand carelessly to the far wall and Harry nearly jumped back when the portrait-clad wall abruptly vanished, revealing an over-stuffed room roughly equivalent to the size of the Great Hall.

Draco nodded his thanks and Harry followed him quickly through the wall.

"Would you like me to close the door?" Lucius asked, still at his desk.

"Please," Draco answered, without turning around. A wand-flourish later, the solid, oak wall had been replaced and they were alone.

"Is it safe?" Harry whispered.

Draco held a finger to his lips. "_Impervio_," he muttered. Then he nodded.

Harry yanked the cloak off and glanced around the large room with wide eyes.

"I thought the Ministry confiscated everything?" he asked. Harry had figured there would be a few dozen books to look through, at most. Judging from the hundreds of well-lined shelves, they could easily spend the next six months here and still be only halfway through. Hermione might just die of pleasure.

"I said they took anything related to Dark magic," he replied, sounding annoyed. Harry looked at him. Draco was glancing around the room as well, scowling at each book as if it'd made some personal offense against him.

"Does he always talk to you like that?" Harry asked softly, taking a step closer to Draco.

"What?" Draco replied vaguely, drifting over the nearest shelf and disinterestedly thumbing through a book.

"Your father," Harry persisted, "He just doesn't seem very… father-like, I guess."

Draco shot him a withering look before returning his attention to his book. "And how would you know what's father-like?"

"Draco," Harry said, stung and angry now. "Stop that, would you?"

Draco sneered slightly without looking up. "Stop what?"

"That," Harry growled, clenching his fists at his sides. "Every time things get slightly emotional, you just… clam up. And start insulting me instead."

"And I suppose you're some authority on emotional health, Potter?" Draco moved on to the next shelf. "What do you do when you're angry? Do you sit down and have a genuine heart-to-heart? Oh, wait, that's right, you curse people."

"I seem to recall you cursing me too!" Harry replied hotly.

Remaining maddeningly calm, Draco said, "The Cruciatus hardly compares to," his eyes flicked down to his chest, "whatever that was you sent at me. Besides, my curse didn't even hit you."

Harry snatched a book off the shelf, _Dewey Whitetail's Guide to Carnivorous Plants_, and slammed it back down heavily. "You know how sorry I am for that! And why the hell are you bringing it up again anyway? We're supposed to be looking for books."

Draco didn't answer. He moved further down the row, silently reading titles off the shelves. After a few silent minutes, "Point is-"

Harry repressed a groan.

" – I knew enough to not send some life-threatening curse at people I really don't want to die. Though I guess the value of my life was negotiable at the time."

"I didn't want to kill you and you know it!" Harry stomped angrily over to Draco and shoved him forcefully against the teetering shelf. The bookcase shuddered menacingly above them but neither noticed as Harry gripped Draco's upper arms tightly and pushed him back again. Draco glared at him through half-hooded eyes, breathing shallowly.

"Maybe you should have," Draco ground out slowly, "Things would be a lot simpler for you right now, wouldn't they?"

"You know, it's times like these I remember why I've always hated you so much!" His grip tightened, painfully so, and Harry vaguely realized he was yelling.

Draco stiffened and tried to wriggle his way free.

"Are you saying you don't hate me now, Harry?" Draco growled, stilling after he realized he couldn't escape.

A pained feeling clenched Harry's gut. "No!" he replied forcefully, "I don't hate you. I just…"

"What?" Draco sneered, "Hate how I act? Well, guess what, Potter, how I act_is_ me. So don't go getting any illusions in that messy head of yours."

"I don't hate you!" Harry repeated again, a bit less forcefully. Abruptly he dropped his hands, realizing they were slightly cramped from how hard he'd been squeezing Draco's arms. "But I really can't stand you right now, so why don't we just split up or something in here. And maybe, by the time we're done, you'll be done being such a bastard!"

"Don't count on it," Draco muttered, looking away and rolling his shoulders with a slight grimace. Harry imagined he would feel bad about that later. At the moment, he didn't really care.

Harry whirled around, more than ready to lose himself in a sea of books, when Draco called after him.

"Wait! What the fuck was that thing you wanted to look for anyway?"

Harry didn't pause. "Horcruxes," he replied without turning around.

"What is that?" Draco snapped, "Some kind of poisonous plant we're going to force-feed the Dark Lord?"

But Harry ignored him, ducking into the darkest and most ancient looking row he could find, leaving Draco – whom he didn't exactly hate, but definitely didn't like at that moment– standing unhappily behind him.

**Review? Please?**


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Draco quietly trailed after Harry, watching through hooded eyes as he angrily stalked up and down rows of dusty books. Occasionally Harry stopped, pulling a book out by the spine, then with a chortle of disappointment realigned the book with its peers. Draco nearly smirked, but the smirk tasted metallic and hollow, so instead he just pursed his mouth and halfheartedly ran his fingers down the long-neglected spines of forgotten books.

He had pushed Harry, pushed him hard. It was, Draco decided, the thing he did best, and whether Harry knew it or not, what would save him ultimately. _You know, it's times like these I remember why I've always hated you so much!_ Harry had yelled at him just moments before. And Draco was glad. It was inevitable, really. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy; they had never been destined to be friends. They were the perfect antithesis of the other; Gryffindor and Slytherin, light and dark, Boy Who Lived and Death Eater. Draco had always wanted – _desperately _wanted to be an important player of sorts, to be noticed and included into the select few that Harry's universe extended to. He still wanted it. In fact, just watching as Harry prowled through the library like a caged tiger filled him with an almost painful yearning in his chest.

What most people didn't understand about Slytherins, is that they did nothing in halves, that they loved just as fiercely as they hated, and that once someone was included into their circle, they would cling to them with relentless possessiveness. Also, a Slytherin never, ever let someone else have what was theirs. And watching Harry moving through light and shadow - memories of moonlight, of desperate kisses and awkward bliss, of Avada Kedavra green eyes, of a crumpled, feverish body settled heavily against his – Draco was filled with an irrevocable knowledge that he could not deny.

"I don't know why we're even bothering," Draco said in a quiet sneer. "What do you plan on doing, Potter? Throw a library book at the Dark Lord? Even your Mudblood friend could think of better. And the Weasel, well, I'm sure his family is hard pressed to even afford books. They buy them all second-hand like common beggars, am I right?"

The result was instantaneous. Immediately, Harry halted in his tracks, his thin shoulder blades shifting beneath his shirt, the back of his neck twisting with tensed sinew.

He turned around, a furious gleam in his eyes. It had been so long since Harry had fixed that glare on him that Draco had nearly forgotten its intensity, and for a moment he nearly forgot himself.

"Just what the fuck is your problem, Malfoy?" Harry ground out between gritted teeth.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest, meeting Harry's glare with a bored smirk. "Oh, so it's Malfoy again, is it, _Potter_?" His smirk broadened. "I guess first names are reserved for special occasions – like when I jerk you off. How do you think the Wizarding world would feel if they knew their hero, the fucking Boy Who Lived himself, gets off on other boys touching his cock? "

Harry's eyes widened behind their glasses, raw hurt flashing across his face, and Draco felt a part of himself break just then.

"I don't understand," Harry said quietly. "I don't understand why you're acting like this."

"For the same reason I always have," Draco said icily. "Because I can. And because, Potter, I hate you." Draco turned around before Harry could see the lie for what it was, casually perusing through books once again. Hopefully Harry was too angry, too hurt to notice the way that Draco's hands were shaking, or the way his teeth were suddenly chattering.

Draco suddenly found himself roughly turned around and pushed so hard against a shelf of books that his head collided painfully with wood. He might have winced, but it was hard to be certain with Harry's face just inches from his own, seething and trembling.

"You don't hate me," Harry said in a desperate voice. His grip on Draco's shoulders threatened to cut off the circulation, but Draco made no attempt to escape. "You don't." His voice shook. "Tell me you don't."

Draco knew in that moment that he inexplicably held some vital part of Harry in his hands, and that with a single phrase he could either crush it forever or embrace it. Neither option was acceptable, so instead Draco squirmed to release himself from Harry's death-grip.  
"Let go of me, Potter."

Harry took a step back with an anguished sound, his hands thrown up in surrender. "Okay." His voice hardened. "Fine. If your goal was to make me hate you again, Malfoy, you're well on your way to succeeding."

Draco shrugged in what he hoped appeared nonchalant. He touched the sizable lump on the back of his head, knowing he deserved far worse.

"Oh, and Malfoy?" Harry threw over his shoulder as he began to walk away. "Don't you ever fucking insult my friends again."

Draco watched Harry's retreating form, grateful that he wouldn't be able to see his face as he quickly blinked away tears.

"_Accio _books with the word 'Horcrux'," he whispered after a moment of contemplation. Immediately, three enormously bound books floated into his beckoning arms.

"Potter!" Draco shouted, suddenly painfully aware of how raspy his voice sounded. He surreptitiously cleared his throat. "Potter, come get your fucking books!"

Harry's pale face immediately came into view from around a corner, and Draco noted painfully that he was biting on his lower lip again.

"What did you find?" he asked flatly, steadily avoiding Draco's eyes.

"Books containing the word Horcrux."

Harry took the books wordlessly, his finger accidentally brushing Draco's, which caused Draco to shiver. Taking a seat at a nearby armchair, Harry opened a book, pouring over page after page with relentless intensity. Draco realized with a slight pang that Harry intended to pour over each page manually – apparently the tedious task was preferable to asking Draco to use a simple locator spell.

"It will take forever that way," Draco drawled casually, feigning boredom.

Not looking up, Harry said, "I don't care."

Draco rolled his eyes. "We can't stay here all night."

"You can do whatever you want, Malfoy. I honestly couldn't care less at the moment."

Draco darted forward and jerked the book from Harry's hands, pointing his wand at it and whispering under his breath. Harry scowled in return, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"I don't need your help."

Draco sneered. "Of course you do, you idiot." He shoved the book back into Harry's hands. "Just because you were raised by stupid Muggles doesn't mean you have to act like one."

"Well, I don't really have a choice at the moment, do I?" Harry snapped, trying in vain to peruse over the page. "Seeing as your loving father and his Death Eater pals have my wand!"

Draco smiled coldly. "At least I have a father, Potter," he said softly. "I think having a Death Eater as a father is slightly better than what you've got – a dead one. Don't you think?"

Harry's breathing had quickened, Draco noted, and the book in his hands was shaking.

"Fuck you," Harry said in a dangerous voice.

Draco crouched down to Harry's level, willing a mocking smile to twist his lips. "You know, Potter, I had a very interesting detention once with Filch. It was last year, I think…yes, that was it. But anyway, he had me dusting in the old records room, and I couldn't help but take a peak. Imagine my surprise when I saw that James Potter – renowned hero, martyr for the cause and all that tripe – was nothing more than a common bully. Apparently he really had it in for our pal Snape; he nearly got him killed once, did you know that?"

Draco watched, fascinated, as Harry trembled with rage from head to toe. He wondered if Harry would finally take the bait, would finally hurt him, hit him, wrap his deceptively fragile-looking hands around Draco's white throat and squeeze. And indeed, for a moment Harry's fingers clenched and unclenched in his fists, but finally he sighed and his fingers stilled.

"I have no illusions about _my_ father, Draco," Harry said in a quiet voice, letting the words – and their implications – settle for an indefinite length of time. He lifted his eyes suddenly, and they bore into Draco's relentlessly. Draco, like the proverbial moth to the flame, was unable to look away.

"Harry, I…" Draco's mouth was cottony, his entire charade forgotten for a moment. He nearly leaned forward to close the insurmountable distance between them, reclaiming those lips as his own, but he caught himself just in time and stood brusquely to his feet.

"Just hurry up, won't you," Draco snapped. He grabbed the other two books, opening the first and whispering a locator spell. The pages flipped rapidly, sending dust particles gyrating through the air.

It was no use. The first book was apparently a book of, quite honestly, mediocre poetry.

_And then my heart lay bare before yours, _

_And you made it your Horcrux. _

Draco scowled, tossing the book to the ground in disgust. He had had no idea his father was secretly such a sap.

"No luck?" Harry asked quietly.

"Just some stupid poetry," Draco said in disdain. There was a pause like a heartbeat. "And yours?"

Harry sighed, rubbing tiredly against his forehead. "Just some line about there being nothing worse than making a Horcrux. Tell me something I don't know."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what a Horcrux was, and a mere hour ago he would have. But things had changed, and he swallowed the rising lump in his throat.

"Nothing important in this one either," he said a moment later, tossing a leather-bound book of medieval poetry on a nearby shelf. The house elves would reshelf the books; it was their job, after all.

"Well," Draco said after a moment. "Are you quite finished wasting my time, or would you like me to select a bedtime story or two? Since you get rather upset at night, apparently. Too bad your mum's dead – no one to sing you to sleep or change your nappies."

Harry blinked, as if suddenly remembering the newly defined status quo between them.

"You're such a fucking prick, Malfoy," Harry snapped, his Invisibility Cloak swirling around his shoulders as he stood to his feet.

"Congratulations on finally figuring that out!" Draco smirked. Harry said nothing in reply, disappearing as he ducked beneath his cloak. Draco stared for a moment at the empty space where Harry had stood just moments before, and he wondered if Harry was staring back.

"_Alohomora_," Draco said softly, pointing his wand at the entrance.

Lucius, still at his desk, looked up tiredly. "Find what you needed, Draco?"

Draco shrugged slightly. "Somewhat." He studied his father for a moment, taking in every etched line speaking of weariness and the bluish bags under his eyes – and nearly hating him for it. _He's so weak. Doesn't he know that we're as important as insects to him?_

Ironically enough, it had been Lucius who had taught Draco to despise weakness.

Lucius steepled his fingers, sighing deeply. "Not much longer, Draco. Once the Dark Lord's plan is complete, we'll be free to come and go as we please – without worrying about competing with Mudbloods or hiding like criminals from the Muggles. They'll be the ones in hiding, as they should be."

Draco regarded him coldly. "Yes, Father."

His father smiled faintly at him. "Go on then. You shouldn't neglect your rest."

"Yes, sir," Draco replied automatically, walking jerkily towards the door. "Goodnight, Father," he said stiffly, exiting the room. He didn't wait for a reply, holding the door open in what he hoped was enough time for Harry to leave.

Draco shut the door quietly behind him. "Are you there, Potter?" he whispered softly.

"Yes," a disembodied voice to his left whispered.

Draco nodded curtly and began walking, motioning with a hand for Harry to follow. As he walked, his mind relentlessly played over the events of the day, and he swallowed yet another lump in his throat. He knew his place at last in the great chess board that was Harry Potter's life; a pawn, no less. But if he was a mere pawn, at least he was Harry's pawn, whether Harry realized it or not.

_Draco watched expressionlessly as Bellatrix toyed with the final victim. Out of thirty Muggles that had been brought into the Manor ballroom, he was the only one remaining. The others lay in a careless heap of bloodied and stiffening limbs, and the sick smell of death pervaded the entirety of the room. Voldemort stood in the center of the floor, his eyes closed as if in the throes of passion, his slitted nostrils quivering in delight as if only the finest ambrosial scents permeated them. Death was all around him, yet he seemed to bask in it, wallow in it like a pig at the trough, like he was Lord of the Flies. _

_Bellatrix cackled eerily as her spells caused the man to jerk and convulse, as his body broke bone by bone. Then it was her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange's turn, and the man crumpled to the floor, black blood seeping from various wounds. Rodolphus stomped with a heavy boot on the man's head, and that was the end. _

_No longer able to help himself, Draco lurched forward, hands on his knees as he retched, throwing up the little breakfast he'd eaten earlier. There was scattered laughter throughout the room, and he didn't allow himself to look up as Bellatrix put a hand on his shoulder. _

"_Awww, does wittle Dwaco need his mummy?" She hauled him roughly to his feet by the elbows, sneering at him. "Remember yourself, you fool."_

_Draco didn't answer, horribly afraid that he would burst into tears like a baby. _

"_Don't be too hard on the boy, Bella," Voldemort said icily, gliding in front of Draco. "He's a delicate sort." Voldemort regarded him coldly, looking both repulsed and fascinated. _

_Draco kept his eyes glued to the floor, willing his traitorous body to cease shaking, as it inevitably did in Voldemort's presence. _

"_You may leave," Voldemort snapped after a moment, his robes swirling around his body as he walked away. _

_Draco half walked, half ran out of the ballroom and down the pristine halls, and was unsurprised a moment later to find himself crumpled to his knees, dry heaves seizing his body. His heartbeat pounded incessantly against his chest, and his throat threatened to close up and choke him. Gasping, he clawed desperately at the wall, sure that he was dying. _

"_Breathe," a voice said softly from behind him, a hand laid gently on his shoulder. "You're having a panic attack, that's all. I know it's frightening, but just try to calm down and you'll be fine."_

_Draco nodded, too panic-stricken to care who was behind him. He shut his eyes, gasping and wheezing, feeling his chest ache with each motion. _

_Finally, once it seemed his body no longer wished to crush him from the inside out, Draco took a shaky breath and glanced behind – and found himself staring at Remus Lupin. _

"_Lupin," Draco said sharply, narrowing his eyes in distrust. He stood shakily to his feet, needing to regain at least a shred of dignity. "Taking cues from the late Fenrir, are you? Following me so you can catch me unawares in some dark room?" He sneered, crossing his arms. "You werewolves are all the same."_

_Lupin snarled slightly. "If my intention was to catch you in a dark room, Malfoy, I've had plenty of opportunities before now." His voice, so kind just moments before, was suddenly harsh and biting. Draco, who was certainly no novice when it came to adopting personas, wondered which version of his former Professor was real. _

"_If you don't intend on mauling me," Draco said, taking a step back and narrowly eyeing Lupin, "then what do you want?"_

_Lupin's expression softened, but only marginally. "I understand what's going on with you and Harry." He crossed his arms, eyebrows raised slightly. _

"_Do you?" Draco deadpanned, donning a similar stance. _

"_Yes…" Lupin sighed, glancing away. _

_The silence bothered Draco. "What then?" he asked, drawing himself up a little higher. He was still slightly shorter than Lupin. "Going to tattle to the Dark Lord? Earn a few good-will points for yourself? Not that you even know what the fuck you're talking about, mind you."_

"_I offered Harry a way out," Lupin snapped, then lowered his voice again. "Do you know what he said?"_

_Draco stared resolutely at his shoes. "Probably."_

"_He wouldn't leave without you, Draco."_

_Draco closed his eyes briefly. Not that any of this surprised him. Lupin, on the other hand, appeared to be still reeling from the fact that Harry Potter had forfeited a chance for freedom – for Draco Malfoy. Only Draco knew this wasn't the first time. _

"_And this bothers me how?" Draco asked, shrugging nonchalantly. _

_Lupin's expression darkened and Draco saw something like relief flit across his features. "Harry told me you would be killed if he were to leave. Is that true?"_

_Something about the question threw Draco momentarily. Why did Lupin care if he were killed? But he realized that wasn't it. He hadn't said it yet, but Lupin was really asking Draco to let Harry escape. He was asking Draco to allow them all to believe he wasn't sacrificing himself in the process. _

"_Would it make you feel better if I said no?" Draco replied flatly, meeting Lupin's eyes. _

_Lupin blinked. "No," he said quietly, "no, it really wouldn't."_

_Draco leaned wearily against the wall, feeling oddly defeated. "This isn't the first time Harry's stayed behind for me," he spoke suddenly, unsure why he was confessing this at all. _

"_The other night?" Lupin asked, a knowing look cast at Draco._

"_Yeah." Draco sucked in a heavy breath. "After I killed Greyback we took the kids to the Weasley house. Harry could have stayed. But he didn't."_

_On some level, Draco realized if Harry was wrong about Lupin, about his loyalties, he had just effectively sentenced them both to death. On another level, a more conscious one, he wondered if this was what trust felt like._

_Lupin considered his words silently. "You know he has to leave, Draco."_

_Draco's head shot up. "And sentence myself to death?" he spat, then laughed morosely. "We can't all be as noble as Potter,_Professor_. Sorry to disappoint."_

"_If Harry doesn't escape there's no chance of defeating Voldemort, and you know it!" Lupin's expression was pained but insistent, knowing full well what he was asking. _

_Draco didn't allow him the relief of looking away but purposefully maintained eye contact. "What do you expect me to do?" he asked, a tinge of desperation present in his voice. "Physically force him out the front doors? Say, 'hey, Harry, save yourself! I know you thought you could save me too but, sorry, I've changed my mind. I'd rather stay here and take my chances with You-Know-Who'?"_

"_Draco…" Lupin glanced away._

"_He's not fucking stupid, you know," Draco growled. He clenched his fists. He pounded them hard against the wall, satisfied to feel sharp bursts of pain shoot up his wrists and elbows. _

_Lupin shook his head, running a hand tiredly through his shaggy hair. "No, Harry is far from stupid," he paused briefly, staring at some point above Draco's head. "What Harry is, is trusting. He wants to see the best in people, Draco. Surely you know that by now."_

_Draco sniffed. "Right. The perfect Gryffindor. How does this help exactly?"_

"_If loyalty makes Harry the perfect Gryffindor," Lupin spoke gradually, "what is it that makes the perfect Slytherin?"_

_Cunning, manipulation, ambition. The answer lay immediately on the tip of Draco's tongue. He bit it back. Somehow saying it would make it all the more true. _

"_Fine," Draco replied shortly, "I get your point. So let me get this straight. You want me to betray his trust, convince him that I don't give a shit about him, that he doesn't give a shit about me. You want me to manipulate Harry into leaving without me, guilt free, and the world will right itself again. Have I got it about right?"_

_Lupin only nodded vaguely, eyeing Draco with something akin to gratitude. Gratitude and pity. _

"_And then Harry will fulfill his destiny and become the savior of us all?" Draco pressed on, pushing himself off the wall angrily._

_Lupin nodded again, looking utterly miserable. Draco was glad. He wanted Lupin to feel as miserable as he did at the moment. _

"_And then I'll be dead," Draco said flatly. This he didn't ask. It wasn't in question. _

"_Maybe not," Lupin answered in a near-whisper. He cleared his throat. "Voldemort's not predictable, Draco. He won't necessarily kill you. If anyone is of use to him, he uses that. He uses them."_

"_Like you're using me?" Draco snapped, feeling his face flush with anger. "What's so different about it?"_

_Lupin was silent but he steadily met Draco's seething gaze nevertheless. _

"_What's different," he said after a moment, "is that you'll be saving Harry's life. You know Voldemort won't keep him around for much longer."_

_Draco opened his mouth to argue but Lupin continued before he could._

"_He's already getting bored with Harry, Draco. I heard Bellatrix gloating earlier about how she was promised a chance at torturing him into insanity before Voldemort finishes him off. It could be months from now or tomorrow for all we know. Do you really want to take that chance?"_

_Draco remembered throwing fits as a child. Stomping, screaming, spit and angry words flying out of his mouth, throwing whatever unfortunate object happened to be in his path. That's what he wanted to do now. Instead, he stood completely still and allowed his face to fall into the all-too familiar mask of indifference. _

"_I'll get Harry out." The words felt dry and heavy in his mouth. Draco swallowed thickly and glared at Lupin. "If you let him get killed after that, I'll come back from whatever fucking grave they throw me in and take you back with me."_

_He didn't wait for a reply. There wasn't a real need to after all. What needed to be said had been said._

_Draco knew Harry would be waiting for him when he got back. He would offer soothing words of comfort and even more soothing strokes and embraces after that. Draco didn't think he could deal with that right now, not with the stench of his coming betrayal still sour on his breath. He passed Harry's door deliberately and stomped into his own room. He slammed the door behind him._

Draco paused outside his bedroom door, feeling Harry still close behind him. He nearly made some biting remark about going to his own room, but bit it back.

Once inside, Harry pulled off the cloak, the shimmery fabric parting to reveal him in entirety. Draco tried not to look at him as he paced anxiously, finally sitting glumly on the edge of Draco's bed.

"You do have you own room, you know," Draco snapped.

Harry sighed, his eyes weary with resignation. "I want to talk to you."

Draco shrugged. "I can't imagine what for," he said flippantly. Attempting to ignore Harry, he sat on the farthest wall from Harry as possible. Harry, however, was impossible to ignore, and Draco found his eyes straying on their own accord to the messy-haired figure on his bed. So much of Harry was still a mystery to him, and he found himself wanting to know all the little things, all the subtleties and nuances. Tears pricked like needles behind his eyelids once again, and he blinked resolutely.

"Draco." Harry's voice was soft and careful, and his eyes burned emeralds into Draco's.

"What?" Draco asked sharply, violently tearing his gaze away.

"Draco, I know something is wrong. And whatever awful things you just said to me, I know you well enough to know you didn't mean it."

Draco gave a sharp laugh. "Don't pretend you know me, Potter. You don't know anything." _Except you know me better than anybody – and somehow you still care to. God, Harry, why do you have to be so fucking good?_

"And I did mean it," Draco snapped. "Every word."

"I don't believe that," Harry said softly.

"Believe it."

"There's something else going on, something you're not telling me."

Draco made a frustrated sound in his throat, jumping to his feet with a scowl. "Just fuck off, why don't you? And get the fuck out of my room! Are you so dense, Potter, so _stupid_, that you honestly can't tell when somebody doesn't want you around? Well, I don't want you here, and I don't want _you,_ so get out!"

Harry stood to his feet, facing Draco. "You owe me an explanation."

"I owe you nothing, Potter! Nothing!"

"That's not what you said before," Harry said softly. "You said you owed me – and if you really believe that, here's the time to pay up."

Draco twisted his features into a mask of disdain. "Yeah, I did say that. I said it to get what I wanted, and as I recall it seemed to work." He took a deep breath, willing his voice not to tremble. "That's all you've been to me, Potter. A means to an end."

Harry went pale. "No," he gasped. "It was real – what about Greyback and the children?"

Draco shrugged callously. "Greyback was a loose cannon. I wanted him out of the way."

Harry closed his eyes, taking a ragged breath. "I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want."

"It doesn't make sense. What do you gain by…pretending to care about me?"

Draco smiled coldly. "Potter, I did what no one else could do; I broke you. I tied you to this place in a way no one else could. It was all the Dark Lord's plan," Draco continued, pacing casually. "After that pathetic escape attempt of yours, he got to thinking about your weaknesses, and how we could use them. The ultimate mind fuck, if you will."

Harry was white and shaking, looking as pained as if someone had cast the Cruciatus on him. Draco felt as if he would be sick.

"If that's true," Harry said in a small voice, "then why are you telling me?"

"Please," Draco scoffed. "What could possibly be the satisfaction in letting you die without knowing?"

"Letting me die?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Oops," Draco said in mock surprise, jutting out his lower lip. "Oh dear. Well, the cat's out of the bag now, isn't it? That's right, Potter. Sooner, rather than later, you'll be joining your mummy and daddy. And the worms, of course. It is a shame, though. You do give amazing hand jobs. But as the French say, 'c'est la vie'."

Harry swayed slightly, looking as if he might faint. "Malfoy, you unbelievable bastard."

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, although it took all of his self-control to not reach for Harry and steady him, beg for his forgiveness.

"Yes, well, guilty as charged." He gave a slight yawn. "Now, if you'd be so kind, I would love to get some sleep. You're welcome to join me, of course – for old time's sake."

"Fuck you," Harry said in a dangerous voice. "You're a sick fuck, Malfoy, and I can't believe I thought…" his voice broke, and he whirled around, stomping to the adjoining door.

"Thought what?" Draco choked, his farce wavering for a split second. He was grateful when Harry didn't answer – it might have ruined him completely.

"Too bad you don't have your wand, Potter!" Draco called after him. "It would make matters all the more interesting if you could fight back!" _Go get your wand, Harry. You have your Invisibility Cloak – just forget about me and go. _

Harry didn't reply, and Draco knew from experience that he was too upset to fully comprehend Draco's words. Draco could only hope that later he would make the realization.

The door slammed, leaving Draco alone once again. Maybe, he thought, as he crumpled to the floor with his head in his hands – maybe that was how it was supposed to be.

**Author's Note: If you'll notice, I didn't thank any reviewers in the beginning. Well, that's because there weren't any! Seriously, I know there's nothing more obnoxious than begging for reviews, but…please? We actually have quite a bit of the story written out in advance, and I'd like to think it's worthwhile to continue posting it here. Thanks!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: Sorry this one took so long to post – it's been written for awhile, and I honestly meant to post it earlier, but life kind of got in the way. But it's a nice, long chapter to make up for the wait…so enjoy!**

**Thanks very much to Smoocher of Evil, merope, milla1230, Diarmadhi, Henka, Dumbledude, Rachy, Elara(and since I couldn't personally respond to your review, being anonymous and all, you should know I LOLed at it), Lamia, and Moyima. And to everyone else, of course, thanks for reading. **

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Draco supposed he must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew he was waking, grainy-eyed, curled in a fetal position on the floor. He had no idea how long he'd slept, and he honestly didn't care, but a quick glance outside told him it was probably early morning. The morning air was chilly, and he shivered slightly, sitting up and drawing his robes around him. By all definitions it was a beautiful day; the sun was still low in the sky, yet was unfettered by clouds. The leaves on the trees were beginning to turn shades of red and orange; autumn was fast approaching. Draco had always been a morning person, and at Hogwarts he had often risen long before his dorm mates, long before Hogwarts was filled with the careless chatter of students. Sometimes he would go to the Owlery and watch the sunrise, unsure of why it always left him feeling so wistful and alone. Now he pondered at the fact that the sun would continue to rise and set each day, that the world would carry on regardless of whether he was still a part of it. It was comforting, almost.

He glanced longingly at Harry's door, wondering if he'd succeeded. Was _this_ love? This twisting, wrenching feeling in his gut as he recalled Harry's face the previous night, like a knife digging deeper and deeper; this disgustingly noble decision of his to sacrifice himself for the world – no, not for the world – he was no martyr, after all. Just for Harry. Yes, he concluded dully, it probably was love. Yet for all it mattered, at the same time it meant nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He barely noticed when Tilly the house elf Apparated into his room with a breakfast tray, her ears trembling slightly as she slid the tray next to him.

"Thanks, Tilly," he said quietly.

Tilly's eyes widened, a gleeful expression flitting over her face. "You is welcome, Master Draco!" Tilly squeaked happily, giving a slight bow. "Is there anything else Master will be needing?"

Grabbing a piece of toast and a slice of bacon, Draco closed the lid on the tray, sliding it back to Tilly. "Take this to Potter, would you?"

"But Master Draco, sir," she squeaked. "You isn't eating enough! Tilly was told to put Master Draco's breakfast and Harry Potter's breakfast on the same tray! You is looking ill, Master Draco, you needs to eat!"

"I didn't ask for your opinion," Draco snapped. "Just do it."

Tilly nodded, her ears drooping slightly. "Yes, sir."

"Oh, and Tilly? Don't tell him I told you to do it, okay?"

"Yes, sir," she said glumly, and with a snap of her fingers, she disappeared with the tray.

Draco had decided to send Harry's breakfast with Tilly for three reasons; one being that he couldn't bear to be around him; the second, that Harry would need his strength to escape. And of course, there was Draco's hope that Harry wasn't even there, that with a startled cry from Tilly he could breathe a sigh of relief. Eating mechanically, the toast and bacon like sawdust in his mouth, he watched the door eagerly, yet could deduce nothing.

He stood and looked thoughtfully into his mirror. He looked like hell, honestly, and he had no idea what Harry had ever seen in him. His eyes were sunken into their sockets, giving him a haunted, desperate look. His hair, which he had once been so proud of, appeared dull and brittle. And his face, which he'd never fooled himself into thinking handsome, but distinguished, at the very least, was now a harsh study of plane and contour. It was fitting, he decided. He looked like how he felt.

Finally, he made up his mind, walking to Harry's door, the handle twisting in his hand. It was unlocked, surprisingly enough, and he swung it open without preamble.

Harry was sitting in bed, arms crossed defiantly over his chest, the breakfast tray untouched.

"What do _you_ want?" Harry asked with a scowl. His eyes, Draco noted, were swollen behind their glasses. _Why the hell didn't he leave?_

"Been crying like a baby, Potter?" Draco curled his lip slightly and leaned casually against the doorframe.

Harry glared. "Fuck off," he spat, then lowered his eyes to his lap.

"Oh, I already did that this morning, _Harry_," Draco replied, forcing his face into a jeering smirk, "You want to know what I was thinking about when I came?"

Harry made a choked sound in his throat. When he looked up, the raw and utterly devastated expression on his face almost made Draco squirm. Almost.

"Don't," Harry spoke in a near whisper, "Please. Just stop." He rubbed the heel of his hand tiredly over his forehead. "You were really serious last night, then… I thought… I don't know what I thought."

Draco felt his pulse quicken, his chest tighten, and for a moment thought he was having a panic-attack again.

"You know what _I_ was thinking," he said, mouth so dry his tongue threatened to stick to the roof of his mouth, "I was thinking how the Dark Lord would like to see the little trysts we had together. I know how to do that, you see. Allow him access to only certain memories."

The glass of pumpkin juice shattering on the wall barely missed Draco's head. He ducked and raised his wand – in case Harry decided the plate would serve as better ammunition. Harry sat back on the bed however, shaking slightly, his arms lying limply by his sides.

"This isn't going to work, Malfoy," he said flatly, a few seconds later.

Draco's eyes widened in disbelief.

"What are you talking about?" Draco returned casually, glad Harry wasn't looking at him right then.

"You," Harry said accusingly, looking up with a piercing gaze, "trying to make me leave without you. Even if you pretending to be my… my friend… was all part of Voldemort's plan, I know you don't want to be here any more than I do. Even if you fooled me in every other way, I still know you're fucking terrified of him. You weren't pretending about that at least."

Draco was too stunned to reply.

Harry continued. "So you know what I'm going to do, Malfoy? I'm going to get us both out of here, just like I said. What you do after that, well, I really don't give a fuck anymore."

No, no, no. This was not happening. This could not be happening. Harry could not be so extremely good, so ridiculously fucking loyal, that he still wouldn't leave Draco behind. He'd just said he believed Draco, he accepted that Draco had used him as an amusing and cruel means to an end, and he still wouldn't leave without him.

"Potter," Draco sneered, though his voice sounded a bit weak to his own ears, "you unbelievable idiot. I know it's hard for anything to penetrate that thick skull of yours, so listen closely. Everything that's happened between us has been a lie. Do you understand? _Everything_."

Harry snorted softly and turned away, shifting so his back faced Draco. "Whatever. Just leave me alone, would you?"

For one of the first times in Draco's not-so-long life, words failed him. He padded back to his room in a daze and sat heavily on his bed. That was it then. Harry wasn't going to do it. The means to escape, practically laid out at his feet on a silver platter, and he wouldn't take the bait.

Draco sighed and realized he was trembling slightly. His greatest weapon had always been, and probably always would be, his mouth and he had practically destroyed Harry with it since yesterday. There was nothing more he could do to convince him.

But Harry needed to leave. He _had_ to.

And then the most obvious solution struck Draco and he nearly laughed at the simplicity of it. He plopped back on the bed and stared dully at the ceiling. Harry needed his wand but wouldn't go after it. If he did, Voldemort would likely kill them both. But, as far as Draco was concerned, that wasn't a problem anymore.

He would get Harry's wand for him.

Harry would be furious, sad, possibly more betrayed than he already was, but he would have to leave before anyone discovered what Draco had done.

Draco felt hot tears slip silently down his face and he didn't try to blink them back. At least this way, Harry would know that Draco hadn't been lying about the way he felt. Not that he'd ever had the chance to tell him.

* * *

The chill of morning slowly gave way to a mild afternoon and even more slowly to a muggy evening. Draco didn't move from his position on the bed for most of the day. He watched listlessly as roiling grey clouds invaded the unfettered sky, as grey darkened to near-black, casting deep shadows all about his room, then as the sky became increasingly angry with each passing hour. It was appropriate, Draco decided, that the weather mirrored his own turmoil.

He sat up, wincing when his back cracked loudly, clearly protesting having been kept in the same position for so long. He rolled his shoulders around gingerly a few times and turned from side to side, hoping to appease his aching muscles a bit. Not that his own comfort mattered much anymore; in a few hours he'd most likely be dead.

Standing quietly, Draco wondered if Harry had sat in his bed the whole day as well. He realized with a slight pang that even if that was the case, Harry's newly rekindled hatred of Draco was probably the only thing he'd spent any time reflecting on.

After fully intending to barge unannounced into Harry's room, Draco was surprised to find the door locked from the inside. He rolled his eyes slightly and wordlessly cast _Alohomora_; the door clicked open without preamble. Harry had apparently just taken a shower because he was wrapped in nothing but a towel when Draco strode purposefully in. He whirled around, a heavy scowl on his face.

"What –," he started.

"_Confundo_," Draco spoke, cutting him off. Harry's sharp gaze immediately slid out of focus and he sat down, gazing around in bewilderment from his spot on the floor. Draco had briefly considered how Harry would react to this spell, considering he could fight off the Imperius curse, and he was relieved to see this clearly didn't affect him in the same way.

"Where's your cloak, Harry?" Draco asked slowly, crouching down to look him directly in the face. Harry stared back blankly.

"Shit," Draco muttered, standing and dragging a hand tiredly through his hair. It was feeling more and more like straw lately.

Then he saw just the tiniest hint of fabric peaking from underneath Harry's mattress. He pulled it out quickly, wondering if Harry's sloppiness could be attributed to him. He glanced down at Harry once more before leaving the room.

"You should get dressed, Harry," he said softly.

Harry's eyes gradually slid over to Draco but the utter look of confusion on his face didn't dissipate. Unable to look any longer, Draco wrapped the cloak around himself and left the room. As he'd done the previous day, he quickly cast a few wards that would warn him the second anyone came too close to Harry's room. He wondered if Harry had even known about that.

The Manor was strangely abuzz that night as Draco made his way quietly through the halls. He was glad he'd decided to take Harry's cloak, that he didn't have to confront any of the Death Eaters lurking the darkened corridors. At one point Draco passed by an open doorway where a number of them were gathered, laughing, yelling, and… something else. Despite himself, Draco glanced in and felt bile rise in his throat at the sight. Wrapped in an unwilling embrace on the floor, covered bodily by a large Death Eater he didn't know the name of – he had never particularly cared to – was a teenage girl, bloodied, crying, and humiliated. Draco thought he recognized her from Hufflepuff. Forcing his breathing and stomach to steady, Draco continued walking. All he could do was hope it would be over for her soon.

When Draco entered the wing previously occupied by his parents, and subsequently taken over by Voldemort, no one was there. Aside from rumbling thunder and the patter of soft rain outside, the only sound Draco was aware of was his own pounding heart. As it threatened to jump physically from his chest he wondered if Voldemort, freak of nature that he was, could hear things like people's heartbeats. It wouldn't surprise him.

A soft scraping sound suddenly came from somewhere behind Draco. He turned, forcing his movements to be slow, fully expecting to see Voldemort standing behind him, looking straight through the cloak. The hall was empty.

Swallowing, Draco stepped into his parents' old bedroom. It didn't look as if anything had changed. It didn't even seem the bed had been slept in recently, as a thin layer of dust had settled visibly on the black coverlet.

"_Accio_ Harry's wand," Draco whispered. A wand flew from somewhere, Draco wasn't even sure it was in this room, but almost instantly he was holding Harry's wand once again. The polished wood felt oddly familiar in his cold fingers. He quickly pulled his exposed limb back inside the cloak. It was only slightly consoling that, considering the time it had taken for the wand to reach him, it hadn't been pulled directly from Voldemort himself.

Draco took a few seconds to breathe deeply though his nerves refused to calm down. If anything, he was feeling more apprehensive by the second. He didn't believe in luck, and so far he had been way too lucky.

He reentered the hallway warily, glancing left and right for any signs of life, but it seemed as dead as before. Unable to shake the feeling of impending danger, Draco had only taken a few tentative steps when his fears were realized.

The spell threw him forcefully against the wall, the cloak fell to the floor, and Draco felt his head crack sharply against the banister. His vision blurred and darkened momentarily and the next thing Draco knew he was being pulled roughly to his feet, pinned heavily against the wall by his forearms.

"What do we have here?" a voice growled, only inches from his face.

Draco blinked hard and his dear Uncle Lestrange's face slid into focus.

"What do you think you're doing?" Draco sneered, though he wasn't sure how successful the look on his face was at the moment, given the incessant pounding in his head. He attempted to struggle briefly, not actually believing he could get free, and Lestrange pressed down harder. Draco forced himself not to grimace.

"I," Lestrange answered, "am in the process of catching you stealing something from the Dark Lord. He thinks you're too much of a coward to go trying something like this," his fingernails dug into Draco's skin, "but I guessed otherwise. How about that?"

At Draco's defiant glare, he laughed. "I don't know what second-hand shop you got that Invisibility Cloak from, Draco, but you really should look into having it adjusted. I saw your shoes at least three times since you came into this wing."

Draco did the only plausible thing he could think of. Having regained control over his legs, he brought his knee up as hard as he could considering the awkward position. It was enough. Lestrange howled and dropped his hands to his groin. Draco scrambled unsteadily away, half standing and half crawling, reaching for either his or Harry's wand spilt on the floor only feet away. And then he heard his uncle say something and a large bone in his wand arm snapped raggedly in half. He collapsed to his side with a choked gasp.

"You filthy traitor!" Lestrange screamed, one hand gripping his wand, the other still pressed firmly to his groin. "You fucking idiot! You're going to pay for that!" His boot connected firmly and white-hot bursts of agony erupted behind Draco's eyes.

Draco curled in on himself, cradling his broken arm to his chest, prepared for the next blow. He saw Lestrange pull back his foot again, and suddenly, Lestrange flew backwards, much as Draco had only moments before. Gasping and wheezing through his mouth, Draco snatched both wands and thrust them in front of him, casting a quick_Stupefy_ before he could even see who was there.

His father easily deflected his spell and took a step closer, a strange look on his face. Draco stared openly for a moment.

"Father?" he said hoarsely. "What…?"

"I won't see my own son killed for my mistakes," Lucius spoke calmly. Only his tormented eyes betrayed him. "I don't know why you have chosen this path… with Potter. But I'm sure you have a plan if you're willing to go this far. After all, you are a Malfoy."

Draco nodded vaguely, not daring to contradict his father. He continued to stare, too bewildered, and in too much pain, to fully comprehend the implications of Lucius' words.

His face inscrutable, Lucius crouched delicately beside Draco, eying his broken arm. "Is your arm broken?"

Draco nodded, no longer attempting to hide his shock. All his life, his father had been an impassive, formidable fixture. He had given Draco the best in everything money could provide, yet had given next to nothing of himself; the occasional nod of approval was the most Draco had ever hoped to receive in terms of affection. Sometimes, a bitter voice at the back of his mind had wondered whether his father cared for him at all, beyond the extent that he valued him as an heir. But now, with the knowledge that his father had risked everything for him fresh in his pain-addled mind, Draco concluded that he must.

Gently touching his wand to Draco's broken arm, Lucius softly whispered, "_Episkey_." There was a dull burn that spread up and down the length of his arm, coupled with a strange iciness as his bones realigned themselves.

"Thanks," he said softly, flexing his fingers experimentally. He met his father's eyes – gray like his own – unsure of what to say.

As it turned out, there wasn't a need to say anything, because the next thing he knew Lucius was hauling him to his feet.

"Go," Lucius said roughly.

"What about him?" Draco asked, inclining his head toward Lestrange's still form.

"I'll take care of him," Lucius said with a slight grimace. Draco nodded, grabbing the edge of the Invisibility Cloak, wrapping it around himself. He stared at his father for a moment, wondering if he'd ever see him again. Sighing, he lowered the cloak down to his shoulders, exposing his face.

"What about you?"

Lucius' face hardened. "Do as I say, Draco."

Draco wrapped the cloak around himself obediently. One did not argue with Lucius Malfoy. Taking a tentative step forward, he shot one last furtive glance at his father, currently crouched over Lestrange with a disgusted look as he prodded his skull with his wand.

Mentally shaking himself into action, Draco took off with renewed fervor down the winding halls. Screams ricocheted eerily around him, and he suppressed a shudder as he again passed the open doorway where the Hufflepuff girl was still being tortured by the large Death Eater. Her screams had subsided into barely discernable whimpers, her bruised eyes squeezed shut. A few Death Eaters watched pitilessly, sadistic gleams shining in their eyes. _Cowards. _Draco turned away brusquely, wishing there was something he could do, knowing there was nothing, and nearly hating himself for it.

Taking care to keep his shoes as covered as possible, Draco managed to uneventfully make his way back. Not even bothering to go to his own room, Draco wrenched open Harry's door and stepped inside, slamming the door behind him. Breathing heavily, he leaned his back to the door, closing his eyes. His hand brushed Harry's wand in his pocket, and he nearly started to laugh.

He was stopped, however, when he saw that Harry was exactly where he'd left him – towel pulled to his hips, his eyes dull and glazed. Tilly fidgeted nervously beside him, her ears twitching.

"Harry Potter must listen to Tilly!" she pleaded, her eyes watering. She shook his arm, and his head turned slightly, his eyes remaining unfocussed.

Throwing off the Invisibility Cloak to a careless heap, Draco hastily pushed Tilly aside. Her ears twitched in confusion.

"Master Draco! Tilly is needing to tell you something!"

Beyond caring at the moment, Draco snapped, "Get out."

"But Master Draco…"

Draco slapped her across the face, the force knocking her backwards. Her eyes widened for a moment in shock – not because she wasn't used to being hit and otherwise abused – but because Draco was usually kind to her. Draco's heart gave a slight lurch at the look of hurt on her face, but knew he didn't have the luxury of kindness.

"Get out!" Draco yelled shakily.

Tilly nodded, tears pooling around her eyes. She gave a hiccupping sob, her ears drooping. "Yes, sir." Then with a snap of her fingers, she was gone, leaving Draco alone with Harry.

Crouching beside Harry, Draco studied him for a moment, long held tears leaking freely down his face. Harry just stared at him blankly.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Draco babbled nonsensically, reaching a shaky hand forward to brush over Harry's face. Maybe it was his imagination, but he could have sworn that Harry leaned slightly into his touch. Cupping the back of Harry's head, Draco leaned forward and kissed him softly. Rocking back on his heels, he furiously swiped the palm of his hand over his eyes, then pointed his wand at Harry.

"_Finite Incantatem_."

Harry's eyes immediately lost their glazed look, and were instead fixed accusingly on Draco.

"What the hell did you do, Malfoy?" he said sharply. Then, as if taking in Draco's undoubtedly red-rimmed eyes, his face softened, something like concern fixing across his features. That he could still feel concern for him, after everything he'd done, filled Draco with the sensation of being broke open completely.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, and with the soft question Draco lost it entirely, reeling back with a cry. As much as he wanted it, he didn't need Harry's concern, or his forgiveness. It would simply make things all the more difficult.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Harry?" Draco asked desperately, his voice breaking as he choked on his own tears. "Why couldn't you just have left?"

Harry made a move as if to reach for him, but Draco backed further away. Harry sighed.

"I told you," Harry murmured. "I'm not leaving without you."

Draco made an anguished cry. "You idiot! Are you honestly that good – that selfless – that you'd risk everything for someone who hates you?"

Harry snorted bitterly. "I know you don't, Draco. So just stop it."

"I told you I did. I told you it was all a lie, and you _still_wouldn't leave! God, Potter, I do hate you. I hate you so fucking much right now." Giving a dry sob, he reached into his robe pocket, and without a word thrust Harry's wand at him.

Harry's eyes widened in panicked realization. "Draco…no."

Draco gave a triumphant smirk. "Yes, Potter. You have no choice now. So get out."

"They'll kill you for this," Harry whispered shakily, a horrified expression on his face.

"They'll kill us both if you don't get the hell out."

Harry made a slight growl, and before Draco could react he had him pinned to the floor, holding his wrists firmly. "Fuck you, Malfoy," Harry ground out. Draco watched his mouth, mesmerized, feeling an insane urge to lunge upwards and claim it.

Harry slammed Draco's wrists against the hard floor. "You idiot. You're such an idiot, Malfoy. You could have waited, trusted me to come up with something. But instead…" his voice trailed off with an anguished sob as he slammed Draco's wrists once again. Draco winced slightly, and Harry released his grip with a startled cry.

"I'm sorry, Draco," he said shakily, collapsing onto Draco, his face buried in the crook of Draco's neck. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? I'm sorry."

Draco said nothing, wrapping his arms around Harry's bare back as he continued to mumble tearfully into Draco's neck. Finally, he gently pried Harry off of him with a sigh. They had to stop wasting time.

"Harry," Draco said firmly. "You have to get dressed. I don't know how long we have until he notices."

Harry raised his head hopefully. "So…you're coming then?"

Draco sighed. "No, Harry. I'm showing you the way out." Noting Harry's blank stare, Draco continued, "it's the only way. You know it is. You're Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, destined to save the world. In the grand scheme of things, Harry, you're what's important, not me."

"Don't fucking say that!" Harry said furiously, but Draco saw with relief that he was reaching for his clothes. He threw his clothes on hurriedly, his fingers trembling slightly as he laced his trainers. His shoulders slumped forward slightly, and he raised his head wearily, looking at Draco sadly. Harry's mouth opened slightly, his lips trembling, clearly struggling with what he had to say.

Without warning, the door was suddenly swung open with such force it threatened to fly off the hinges. Draco instinctively clutched his wand, but made no move to raise it. Yet. He desperately hoped Harry would imitate him, rather than rush headfirst into an unknown situation with Gryffindor recklessness.

Two Death Eaters, whom Draco recognized as Macnair and Crabbe Sr., stood leering in the doorway, wands outstretched.

"I don't know what you meant by that," Macnair sneered at him. "Sending that house elf away before it could deliver your message."

Draco smirked petulantly. "I was busy," he said easily.

Crabbe gave a snarl, taking a step towards him. He was even larger and more brutish than his son, although Draco had never felt intimidated by _his_ Crabbe.

"Watch your mouth, _Malfoy_," he said dangerously. "You might have been something special once – born with a silver spoon in your mouth, the whole world bending down to kiss your arse, bossing my boy around like you're better than him – but now you're just like the rest of us."

Draco stole a sideways glance at Harry, seeing him tensed like a cat about to pounce. _Don't do anything stupid, Harry. _

"What a charming notion," Draco said stiffly, lazily stretching his arms. "Now, if you wouldn't mind…"

"We've got Potter's friends," Macnair suddenly cut in, a satisfied grin on his dull face. He took a step towards Harry, laughing coldly. "The Dark Lord says I might even get a go at the Mudblood – before we kill her, that is."

Draco swiftly moved to Harry's side, bodily holding him still as he gave an enraged cry. "I'll kill you! You fucking bastards!" He attempted to fight off Draco, his hands crazily reaching for his wand. Draco pinned his arms to the side, knowing it was imperative that he not break free.

"Don't!" Draco whispered harshly, sending Harry a silent message. _Wait. _And almost as if he had heard him, Harry stopped struggling, his arms hanging limply.

Macnair and Crabbe watched Harry struggle gleefully, both sniggering slightly.

"Potter here," Crabbe started, "gets to go spend some quality time in the dungeons with his blood traitor friend. But don't worry, it's only temporary. You'll be back up here with your_boyfriend_ before too long." He laughed nastily, apparently amused at his own wit. "And Draco, you're wanted in the ballroom. The Dark Lord said you'd shown an interest before in killing the Mudblood. He might just give you that chance."

Harry made a desperate sound, stepping away from Draco. Despite the situation, Draco felt almost hurt at Harry's reaction. Did he really think Draco was capable of that?

"Harry…" he said quietly, not caring that Crabbe and Macnair stood mere steps away from them.

Crabbe reached forward, grabbing Draco roughly by the front of his robes. "You're coming with me, Malfoy," he sneered, spraying Draco slightly with spittle. Draco recoiled in disgust, pulling away.

"Get your hands off me!" he snapped, making a show of wiping the saliva from his face. Then, straightening his spine, he shot Crabbe with an arrogant look, hopefully reminiscent of Lucius Malfoy. "Very well, then."

Harry, standing to his left was surprisingly silent, and Draco met his eyes briefly. _Trust me_, he wanted to say. However bad the situation, Draco felt strangely light. It was a liberating thing, having nothing to lose.

Harry nodded his head almost imperceptibly at Draco, following Macnair without another word.

Draco sneered slightly at Crabbe and made a point of sweeping out of the room before he could, large, purposeful strides carrying him a good way down the hall before Crabbe caught up with a scowl and shoved his way in front.

The whole situation seemed somewhat surreal and Draco felt a certain giddiness building up in his chest as he thought about it. It all depended on Harry now, really. He had his wand. He was about to be reunited with Weasley, who, despite his other failings, would gladly step in front of a Killing Curse to save Harry. Granger was the only problem now, the fact that neither of them would ever leave without her. But Draco, fully aware that he was past the point of no return, would see to it that she was taken care of. Whether by reuniting them or otherwise, he didn't know; he did know if it meant she had to die in order for Harry to leave, that would simply have to happen.

"Stupid kids were practically sniffing around the back yard," Crabbe commented suddenly, chuckling to himself.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You don't say?"

"Yeah," Crabbe snorted, "Don't know what the hell they were getting at, actually coming and looking for the Dark Lord."

"Hmm," Draco muttered in agreement, but he was barely listening. He seriously doubted they'd come looking for Voldemort. But he did agree with Crabbe on one thing: he didn't know what the hell they were getting at if they had in fact come here on purpose.

His first thought upon seeing Hermione was in wondering how long she'd been there. She looked pretty far gone already, as far as Draco was concerned, lying huddled on the floor, hands lost in her perpetual mess of bushy hair. Hoping he wasn't shaking as much as her, Draco met Voldemort's gaze unflinchingly.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "What took you so long?" He clasped his hands behind him. "Next time you ignore an order, it'll be you down on the floor here. However, seeing as we're currently occupied…"

With a faint twitch of his wand, Hermione jerked, then flipped awkwardly onto her back with a pained moan.

Voldemort smiled darkly. "Care to have a go, Draco?"

At the sound of his name, Hermione turned her head and half met Draco's stare. One of her eyes was nearly swollen shut but, in the other, Draco saw vague recognition. He also saw fear; a fear he was more than familiar with when looking into the eyes of an enemy.

"_Crucio_!" he said forcefully, not allowing himself to hesitate. Voldemort laughed in delight as Hermione screamed and writhed fitfully on the ground. After what seemed an adequate amount of time, Draco forced his features into a sneer of disgust and lowered his wand.

"Been wanting to do that for years," he spoke loudly, and only a little bit hoarsely. This drew several laughs from the mass of Death Eaters.

Voldemort's eyes gleamed as he looked at Draco. "Would you like to finish her?"

Draco blanched despite himself and the question hung silently in the air for a moment. Eventually, Voldemort smirked knowingly and chuckled.

"I thought not," he said, quietly. Draco blinked and stared at the floor, carefully averting his gaze from Hermione.

"Now then," Voldemort continued, "surely Harry's had sufficient time to reacquaint himself with an old friend. Wouldn't want them to miss out on the Mudblood's end, after all."

Draco's heart pumped furiously, reverberating painfully throughout his entire body. Harry couldn't be brought up here. Because then he would do something stupid and get himself killed. Draco cursed silently.

"I'll go get them," he volunteered, looking up, berating himself for not acting just a little bit faster earlier; this whole mess would've been avoided.

Voldemort stared back at him with a vaguely amused expression. "My, Draco. So much enthusiasm from you tonight."

"It's easier when there's a personal grudge between us." Draco attempted to sound nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders.

"Interesting notion," Voldemort hissed. "I rather thought the opposite would be true in your case. I suppose even the most predictable people can be surprising every so often. You may go."

Draco nodded curtly and turned to leave.

"Oh, and Draco," Voldemort called, "if Potter's friend happens to trip and break his nose on he way up, I wouldn't hold it against you."

Draco cast a tight smile over his shoulder and moved quickly out of the room.

After opening the dungeon door, a flash of bright red hair was all Draco had time to register as he was tackled to the ground by Ron Weasley. He landed on his back with a grunt.

"What the hell did you do to her, you bastard?!" Ron yelled, pummeling for all he was worth. "Where the hell is she?!"

"Ron, no!" Draco heard Harry say in a panicky voice. A moment later, Harry had pulled his irate friend back and held him tightly by his arms. White-faced and struggling, Draco thought he looked like an insane attack-dog.

"Draco," Harry asked apprehensively, "is she…?"

"No," Draco growled, rolling to his side and then standing quickly. "She isn't." He spat blood from his mouth and shakily wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

"Like we're gonna believe you, _Malfoy_, you slimy git!" Ron renewed his struggles with fervor.

Draco sneered. "Believe whatever you want, _Weasley_." He turned his attention to Harry. "You need to get the fuck out of here, Harry. I only have a few minutes before I'll be missed, so come on."

"No!" Harry's face contorted angrily. "We're not leaving without Hermione. _Or_ you."

"Fuck, Potter!" Draco groaned in frustration and nearly stamped his foot. "Get it through your thick head! I'm not coming with you! And you best forget about Granger because there's no way you can get her out. She'll be dead soon anyway."

Ron made a strangled sound in his throat, going limp against Harry's grip, and Harry's face paled visibly.

"There's got to be a way," he ground out, glaring at Draco. "Because Ron said that Hermione figured something out. About the Mark. If we can just get her down here, we can all leave."

Draco stared at Harry. "Why would Granger know anything about removing Dark Marks?"

Harry shook his head violently. "It doesn't matter! Look, I know Hermione and I know if anyone could figure it out, it's her."

"Wait," Ron muttered, gazing between Harry and Draco in bewilderment, "he's coming with us?"

They both ignored him.

"Fine," Draco spat, scowling, "Granger's a bloody genius. That doesn't change the fact that she's up there, and we're down here. Did she figure out a solution for that as well?"

"Kreacher!" Ron gasped suddenly, his eyes widening. "She said to tell you about Kreacher, Harry!"

Draco raised both his eyebrows at Ron. "Brilliant. Now he can't even speak in full – "

"No," Harry interrupted quickly, "Kreacher's a house-elf. What about him, Ron?"

"Harry," Ron said, gathering his wits a bit, "Kreacher is _your_ house-elf! When Sirius left you the house, he left you him as well!"

Harry looked confused. "Yeah… So?"

Realization struck Draco instantly and for a moment all he could was gape open-mouthed at Harry.

"Potter," he said slowly, "why the hell didn't you tell me you owned a house-elf?"

Harry returned his stare, looking angry and more confused by the second. "Why does that matter?"

Ron began to answer but Draco beat him to it.

"Call him," he ordered. Harry frowned. "Just do it," Draco insisted, crossing his arms. He really wasn't sure whether he should punch or kiss Harry at the moment.

Still frowning, Harry called tentatively, "Kreacher?"

With a sudden crack, a rather loud one – Draco winced and glanced behind him, hoping no one could hear – an ancient looking house-elf appeared in front of them. Harry and Ron both jumped slightly.

"Master called?" Kreacher croaked, drooping into a half-bow. Draco was quite sure he heard the entire elf's body crack with the movement.

Harry stared dumbfounded at Kreacher, then at Draco, breathing shallowly through his mouth.

"But…how…?" he sputtered.

"That's why Hermione and I came looking for you!" Ron said from beside him. "We knew if we could tell you about Kreacher, then you could get out. We didn't actually mean to get caught…" He looked a bit sheepish and his face reddened slightly.

"House-elves aren't constrained to the same magical limits we are," Draco explained hurriedly, scowling down at the hunched creature as it began scratching its head loudly, sending flakes of dead skin floating in the air. "When they're bound to a witch or wizard, the only laws they have to follow are those placed by their master. No one else's apply."

Understanding slowly dawned on Harry's face. "So," he said, "even though we can't Apparate out of here –"

"They can," Draco finished for him, meeting his wide eyes.

"Yeah," Ron mumbled, "What he said."

"Master is speaking to a good pureblood wizard," Kreacher suddenly croaked softly. Draco looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, maybe Master won't keep nasty blood-traitors and Mudbloods as his friends no more…"

Harry shook his head. "Just ignore him. What are we going to do?"

"The house-elf should be able to detect Granger's magical signature," Draco muttered, more to himself than anyone, running a hand tiredly over his face. He had to think fast. "But he should get you two out of here now."

"And leave you here by yourself? Hermione might not listen if it's just you… I mean…" Harry said, frowning. Draco, who seriously doubted Hermione actually had a solution to the Mark on his arm, scowled.

"Fine," he suggested, "then Weasley at least should go. The fewer the better."

"No fucking way!" Ron growled venomously, a dangerous glare on his face.

"Do you want to save her or not?" Draco snapped.

Ron clenched his fists. "I won't let _you_ – !"

"Ron!" Harry stopped him, physically turning Ron to face him. "Ron, please! This is the best way! You trust me, don't you?"

"Well, yeah," he answered without hesitating. "But Malfoy, Harry?"

"I'll explain everything later, Ron. I swear!"

A loud door banged somewhere on the floor above and Draco flinched, glancing behind him again. Any minute now someone would come looking for them. "We need to go," he insisted. "Now."

"Ron?" Harry pleaded. Looking less than happy, Ron nodded jerkily.

"Okay," Harry breathed in relief. He looked at Kreacher. "Kreacher, take Ron to the Burrow and then come straight back to me. Alright?"

"No," Ron interrupted, "Shell Cottage, Harry. I'll tell you later."

Harry nodded and repeated the modified instructions to Kreacher. Muttering unintelligible words under his breath, Kreacher grabbed Ron's leg and they disappeared with a pop. Seconds later, the house-elf reappeared, still muttering.

"Do you have a plan?" Harry asked softly, eyeing Draco widely.

Draco grabbed his arm, half out of reassurance to himself. "He has to go now. I don't know how much time Granger has."

Harry's face lost a little more blood and he nodded.

"Tell your house-elf to follow my instructions," Draco said. Harry nodded again and passed the order on to Kreacher.

"Kreacher," Draco spoke firmly but quietly, realizing his many years of bossing house-elves around was finally coming in handy. "Apparate as quickly as possible to Hermione Granger, bring her back here immediately, and take Hermione, Harry and I – only Hermione, Harry and I – past the Manor wards. You are not to be seen, heard, or felt by anyone. You cannot follow any other orders, no matter who gives them to you, and you cannot act on any of your own ideas. Do you understand?"

Kreacher, trailing half-heartedly behind them, stared up at Draco with large, glassy eyes. "Master Draco is giving Kreacher good, pureblood directions and Kreacher is understanding and obeying like a good house-elf." He vanished then but without any noise, so Draco knew he was merely invisible for the time being.

Draco shook his head. "Your house-elf is insane, Potter."

"You're telling me," Harry snorted softly. He grinned unabashedly at Draco. "We're really going to get out of here."

"_You're_ going to get out of here, you mean," Draco said sharply, faintly discomfited by Harry's optimism. After all, there was still much that could go wrong.

Harry sighed. "Draco…"

He was interrupted by a loud crack, revealing Kreacher and an apparently unconscious Hermione Granger.

"Hermione!" Harry said desperately, immediately rushing to her side. He bit his lip, a pained expression on his face as he gingerly touched her shoulder.

"We don't have time, Potter!" Draco snapped, unreasonably annoyed by Harry's obvious concern. It was petty and childish and he knew it, but then again, Draco had never liked to share.

Harry nodded, pulling Hermione's still form onto his lap and holding out a hand to Draco. Draco wordlessly took his hand, feeling a lump rise in his throat when Harry brushed a thumb over his knuckles.

"Kreacher, now!" Draco commanded, and the house elf gave a harsh rasp of acquiesce before gripping his leg and immediately Disapparating, pulling them along with a sickening sensation.

Once his molecules had realigned themselves, Draco saw with some degree of amazement that he, Hermione, Harry, and Kreacher were in a densely wooded area, probably a good day's walk from Malfoy Manor. Not that it mattered the distance, as his Dark Mark would give away their location the second Voldemort was aware of their escape.

Harry released his grip on Draco's hand, pulling Hermione into a sitting position against him. Her breaths were ragged, and she stirred fitfully upon being moved. Harry's eyes met his briefly, wide and questioning.

"Kreacher," Draco said sharply to the elf. "I want you to Apparate back to the Manor, and as before, you can't be seen or heard by anyone. I want you to get Granger and Weasley's wands, and then bring them back here immediately. You will not talk to anyone, and you will not obey any other directions. Understand?"

The house elf nodded gravely. "Yes, Master Draco. Kreacher is happy to serve a good, pureblooded wizard again. Kreacher is wishing Master Draco _was_ his master…"

"Go!" Draco all but screamed. Kreacher gave a small bow, disappearing with a crack.

Not caring to waste any more time, Draco pointed his wand at Hermione. "_Ennervate_."

Her eyes opened immediately, glossy with pain, and upon seeing Draco, fear.

"Malfoy, what…"

"It's okay, Hermione," Harry said quietly, gently releasing her from his embrace but keeping a steadying arm on her shoulder. "He's on our side."

She turned carefully to face Harry, her brows furrowing slightly, then nodding. "Okay," she said weakly.

Draco was suddenly aware of a faint tingling sensation spreading up and down his Dark Mark, quickly giving rise to a dull burn. Gritting his teeth, he clapped a hand over his arm.

"Draco?" Harry asked softly.

Draco gave a bitter laugh. He should have known that Voldemort would waste no time in calling him. And by not answering his summons, he was essentially committing suicide.

"The way I see it," Draco said in a tight voice. "You two have maybe five minutes to get the hell away from me, but I wouldn't push it. If Kreacher isn't back in the next minute, Potter, you need to Apparate the both of you out of here."

"No way," Harry said firmly, shooting upright to his feet. He glared at Draco. "I'm not leaving without you."

Feeling as if his throat were closing, Draco snapped, "then you're sentencing yourself and Granger to death, Potter! How many times do I have to tell you this before it sinks into that stupid head of yours? I – can't – leave, at least not without giving away our location at a moment's notice! Now stop playing the martyr card, and get the fuck out of here!"

"_I'm _playing the martyr card?" Harry said angrily. "You've already given up!"

Draco's mark gave another sharp twinge, and he closed his eyes wearily. "Harry, please – just do this for me."

Ignoring Draco, Harry knelt beside Hermione, who was leaned heavily against a tree with her eyes half closed.

"Hermione!" Harry said sharply, giving her a shake. She opened her eyes, although one remained swollen and nearly closed.

"Yes, Harry," she said hoarsely.

Harry gripped her shoulders. "Hermione, Ron said you'd found a way to remove the Dark Mark. I know you're sick, but I need you to do it now. Please."

She seemed to sit up a little straighter, a look he had seen too often in class passing over her face.

"Yes, I think I can. Not remove it, really, but more…disrupt it. It's all highly theoretical, but I think it could work."

Draco's Dark Mark suddenly gave its most intense surge yet, and he nearly doubled over from the pain.

"They'll be here any minute," he managed to ground out.

There was suddenly a crack signifying Apparition, and for a terrible moment Draco thought for sure it was the end, and judging from the harsh breaths emanating from Harry and Hermione, they had thought the same. There was a collective sigh of relief when they saw it was Kreacher, two wands clutched in his wrinkled hands.

"Kreacher is bringing Master Draco the wands, just like he asked," Kreacher said in a raspy tone, brandishing the wands to Draco. "Not since Kreacher's poor Mistress has he had the chance to serve good, pureblood wizards like yourself…"

Draco ignored him, thrusting both wands at Harry and Hermione.

"Well Granger, if you have an idea, now's the time to do it." Not caring to waste another second, he crouched beside Harry and Hermione, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the black, pulsing mass that was his Dark Mark.

Wincing as she leaned forward, Hermione took his arm without a word and laid it across her lap. She seemed to appraise it clinically for a moment, prodding at the tortured flesh with a tentative finger.

"Okay," she muttered after a moment. Keeping her hand locked around his wrist, she looked directly into Draco's eyes. "Malfoy, I won't lie to you. This is really going to hurt."

Draco nodded brusquely, wondering if secretly she was relishing the idea of inflicting pain on him, as just moments before she'd been writhing in agony from _his_ Cruciatus curse. But strangely enough, she looked apprehensive and even apologetic about the prospect, grimacing slightly as she raised her wand to his arm and began muttering a strange sounding incantation.

Immediately, Draco was overcome with the worst pain he'd ever experienced. It was different from the Cruciatus, sharper somehow, and though it seemed focused mainly on his arm, his entire body reverberated with the effects. It was a feeling of burning, of being burnt alive, and at the center of that sensation was his arm, feeling as if it were physically being cut open.

He must have tried to jerk away, because the next thing he knew Harry was behind him, holding him forcibly still. But even Harry's touch burnt, and he cried out, struggling violently against him. His mind was in such a haze of pain that he couldn't even remember why he was doing this, why it was somehow important – all he knew was that Hermione Granger was torturing him for some reason, and Harry was letting her.

"Fucking Mudblood!" he screamed at her, suddenly feeling an endless void of rage engulf him. He struggled once more against Harry's grasp, then just as suddenly the rage gave way to empty despair, and he gave a whimper of anguish, leaning against Harry with a choked sob. "Harry, please stop her! _Please_ Harry!"

Finally, Hermione's chanting ceased, and he leaned bonelessly against Harry, still sucking back sobs. After a moment he managed to compose himself, and despite his intense embarrassment, felt a renewed sense of urgency.

"Did it work?" he asked Hermione quietly, slightly startled that her face was wet with tears.

She nodded, sniffing slightly. Harry placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said to Draco, gripping his wrist once again. Slightly taken aback, Draco could only nod.

A sudden crack caused the three of them to start, and Draco felt his blood freeze at the sight of three figures advancing slowly towards them, and even in the diminishing evening light, he could make out the fair beacon of his father's hair.

Thinking quickly, he yelled, "Kreacher! Apparate the three of us immediately to the place you took Weasley!"

Kreacher was at their side in a split second, and the last thing Draco saw before he felt the unsettling tug of Side-Along Apparition was a distinctly relieved look on his father's face.

**Review? Please?**


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Elara, Rachy, Dumbledude, Moyima, Lamia, neverenough, BranwenAisling, Bewittching, and Paige Taylor – you guys are awesome!**

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

Harry grabbed tightly onto both Draco and Hermione, not letting go until he once again felt solid ground beneath his feet. As the world rearranged around him, revealing a sitting room of some sort, he could have laughed out of the relief he felt. He was free. And so was Draco. 

There was a squeal of delight upon their arrival, and Harry was nearly knocked over by Fleur Delacour. 

"'Arry!" Fleur embraced him happily. "'Arry you gave us quite ze fright!" She pulled away, holding him at arms length, her beautiful face pursed slightly. 

"Er…sorry," Harry muttered, feeling at a loss of words, as he inevitably was around the part-Veela. 

"And 'Ermione," she gave Hermione a curt nod. "Ronald veel be glad you're safe."

"Where is Ron?" Harry interrupted. He kept a hand on Hermione, who was swaying unsteadily. Draco, however, had pulled away upon their arrival and was currently standing in a corner with a brooding expression. "And Bill?"

"Ah, Beel and Ronald, zey are outside, talking to zeir father." She gave an indifferent shrug, then gestured toward Draco. "Who eez thees?"

Draco took a step forward, and Harry noticed that his arm was still trembling slightly. Harry nearly questioned him about it, but stopped himself, knowing Draco wouldn't appreciate having what he perceived as weaknesses broadcasted. 

"Draco Malfoy," he said in a surprisingly cordial tone, reflecting a childhood of learning to mingle with upper society. "It's a pleasure to meet you…"

"Fleur Weasley," she said with a slight sniff, eying him somewhat disdainfully. "Eef you veren't so strange looking, I'd zink you ver part Veela, like me."

Draco's eyes widened slightly, as if dumbfounded that anyone could resist his charm. Or by Fleur's blatant rudeness. 

"Thanks," he said dryly. 

Hermione slumped closer to Harry, shivering slightly, and Harry supported her to the nearest chair. She sat heavily, sinking into the chair with a shudder. She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them, fixing Harry with a triumphant smile. 

"We did it," she said softly, gripping his hands and squeezing. 

"Yeah," Harry said with a smile of his own, squeezing back. "I'm just glad you're okay."

Hermione nodded, closing her eyes with a slight grimace. She opened her eyes again, frowning thoughtfully. 

"Is Malfoy alright?"

Harry glanced behind him to see Draco watching them from across the room, an odd expression on his face. Meeting his gaze, Harry gave him a reassuring smile, and Draco smiled tightly in return. 

"I'll get Beel and Ronald," Fleur said suddenly, sauntering out of the room with a sway of her hips. Harry gulped, then turned back to Hermione. 

"I think so. It's hard to tell sometimes, to be honest," Harry said softly. 

"Ask him to come over here."

Harry nodded. "Draco," he called. "Could you come here a second?"

Draco shrugged, stepping across the room. "Didn't want to interrupt anything."

Harry frowned, opening his mouth to respond, but Hermione beat him to it. 

"Is your arm still hurting?" she said softly. 

Draco's face tightened, as if debating whether or not to divulge that information. Finally, he nodded reluctantly. "A little."

"But not in the way of being summoned, right?"

"No, it's different," Draco said haltingly in a stiff tone, refusing to make eye contact with her. "Believe me, I'd know."

Hermione frowned slightly, a question obviously on the tip of her tongue. Then, upon seeing something over Harry's head, her face brightened visibly. 

"Ron!" she said happily. Harry's head whipped around, his face also falling into an enormous grin. Ron grinned back unabashedly, coming forward to clap Harry on the back, and, to Harry's astonishment – give Hermione a soft peck on the cheek. 

"Well done, mate!" he said brightly. "I was so worried…about you both…I…" he trailed off, his expression darkening slightly, then as if catching himself, giving another grin. "I should have known you'd figure something out. With Hermione's brains and your dumb luck, no offense Harry…"

"Actually, Malfoy got us out, Ron," Hermione said softly, giving Draco, who was hanging dejectedly back from the trio, a smile. He scowled slightly in return, looking at the ground. "And Kreacher, of course," Hermione added graciously, gesturing at the house elf currently huddled in a corner, scratching his belly and muttering to himself. 

"Malfoy?" Ron asked incredulously. "No bloody way. His dad's practically dating You-Know-Who."

"Ron, don't…" Harry said weakly, but the damage was already done. With a choked sound of disgust, Draco rounded on Ron, his wand drawn and pointed at Ron's chest. 

"You'd best shut your stupid trap about my father, Weasley," he sneered angrily, looking for the moment every bit the person Harry had loathed back at Hogwarts. Yet at the same time, Harry could see it for what it was – just an act. He knew the real Draco, the one who told jokes and was wry and self-deprecating at times, the one who was willing to die for Harry…

"Happy, Harry?" Ron asked, giving a nervous laugh. "The git's going to curse us all probably and take us back to You-Know-Who!"

Draco made a growl in his throat, narrowing his eyes cruelly at Ron. "Ever say something about my father again, and I'll happily curse you into oblivion, Weasley." His wand jabbed sharply against Ron's ribs. 

Suddenly, there was a flash of light and Draco was knocked off his feet, flying backwards and colliding with the wall. He made a slight umph at the contact, cradling his shaking arm in his other. 

Harry was at his side before he even knew who had cast the spell. 

"God, Draco, are you alright?" he put a hand on Draco's shoulder, kneading it slightly.

Draco groaned slightly, looking over Harry's shoulder. "Oh fuck. More Weasleys."

He glanced around and seeing Bill Weasley with wand in hand, said sharply, "Was that necessary?"

Bill, to his credit, looked slightly sheepish, though it was hard to tell under his thick array of scars. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "Just when I came in here and saw Lucius Malfoy's son pointing a wand at my brother…I jumped to conclusions."

Even Ron looked slightly apologetic. "It was my fault, Bill," he said quietly. "I said things to him that I knew would upset him." He inclined his head slightly to Draco, giving him a slight nod. Draco dipped his head quizzically, then finally, gave a curt nod in response. 

Looking slightly bemused at the exchange, Bill strode over to Draco and Harry, crouching slightly in front of Draco. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked quietly. Up close his scars looked even worse, yet there was a gleam of something in his eyes that spoke of one who had looked death in the face, laughed, and somehow was still laughing. 

"Fine," Draco muttered, keeping his eyes averted from Bill's face. Bill noticed apparently, and he smiled wryly. 

"It's okay to stare if you want. It's hard work being this beautiful."

Draco's mouth twitched, curving into a small smile as if on its own accord. 

"Ah, Beel!" Fleur stepped back into the room. Arthur Weasley followed close behind, unable to suppress a grin at the sight of Harry. 

Fleur slid beside Bill, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Beel, always you joke about thees!" Bill twisted around, cupping Fleur's chin in his hand. 

"Don't be jealous because I'm the better looking of the two of us."

She giggled, standing on her tiptoes to kiss Bill full on the mouth. 

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. Harry gave a snort of laughter, turning his head around to gauge Draco's reaction. Draco was not smiling.

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat loudly, causing Bill and Fleur to pull apart reluctantly. Harry stood to his feet, holding a hand for Draco who took it after a moment of deliberation. Eying Mr. Weasley warily, he took a stance slightly behind Harry. 

"Harry, I cannot express how delighted I am to see you again," Mr. Weasley said, reaching forward to give a half hug, half handshake to Harry, beaming broadly. "We've all been worried sick about you."

"Yeah, er…sorry about that," Harry said with a sheepish grin. "But I've been okay, really." It was the overstatement of the year, and Harry could practically feel Draco rolling his eyes at him. At that thought, he pulled Draco forward. "Mr. Weasley, you must know Draco Malfoy?"

He gave Harry a strange look. "Yes," he said shortly. "Yes, Harry, I'm rather well acquainted with the Malfoys." He gave Draco a half nod, then turned his attention back to Harry. "There's much to be discussed, of course, but that can wait until morning. You all look as though you need a good night's sleep."

Harry gestured at Hermione, currently nodding to sleep on her chair. "Hermione will need looking after – she was put under the Cruciatus curse, I think."

"Ronald and I will take care of 'Ermione," Fleur said haughtily, kneeling slightly to place the back of her hand on Hermione's forehead. She made a tsking sound. "She 'as ze fever, I zink."

"There's a potion you can give her," Draco said suddenly. All eyes turned to stare at him. He gulped noticeably, then pursed his lips arrogantly. "It's specifically designed to negate the aftereffects of the Cruciatus curse…" his voice trailed off. 

"Well," Mr. Weasley said stiffly. "I can assure you we have nothing of the sort. After all, we don't usually go around administering the Cruciatus whenever it suits us." He paused. "Although we certainly appreciate your concern."

Bill gave Mr. Weasley an inscrutable look, then turned his attention to Draco. "That's very interesting, Draco. Is it hard to make?"

Draco relaxed visibly. "No, not really. The main thing is plenty of wormwood and a few other things…I could make it, if you'd like."

Bill seemed to eye Draco's shaking arm for a moment, but didn't comment. Instead he nodded, giving Draco a smile. "Our potions supplies are upstairs, first door to the left. If an obnoxious ball of fur climbs up your leg, don't be alarmed. It's just Napoleon, Fleur's cat."

Fleur made a scoffing noise. "Ah, Beel."

Draco nodded, smiling faintly. "I'll keep that in mind." As he turned to leave, his eyes met Harry's briefly. 

"Hey, do you need any help?" Harry asked quietly. 

Draco smirked. "Potter, as someone who's been in your Potions class since first year…I'll have to decline that offer." Still smirking, he sauntered out of the room, disappearing as he went up the staircase.

"Git," Ron said under his breath. "He'll probably poison it."

Harry rounded on him furiously. "Stop it, why don't you? Can't you see he's just trying to help?"

Ron held up his hand in mock surrender. "I was joking, Harry! It's just…weird, that's all. I mean, this is Malfoy we're talking about."

"Don't you think I know that?" Harry huffed. "And, yeah, I know it's weird, but… a lot…" He paused, wondering how to put into words any of what had happened at Malfoy Manor. Every eye was turned on him attentively as he struggled to speak; only Mr. Weasley didn't look up, staring instead at the rug with a slight frown creasing his forehead.

"A lot's happened in the past few weeks," Harry resolutely swept his gaze around the room before settling back on Ron. "And when it comes down to it, I probably wouldn't be alive if it weren't for Malfoy. I… Look," he sighed, suddenly quite exhausted. "I'm really too tired to talk about all this right now, so could you please, all of you, just give him the benefit of the doubt for the time-being? For me?"

"Of course we will, Harry," Hermione said softly, looking up at him with wide, shining eyes. Ron, looking decidedly bashful now, nodded faintly as well.

"Sure, mate," he said, then grinned lopsidedly. "Doesn't mean I'll quit thinking he's a git."

Harry felt such an enormous wave of affection for his friends right then that he barely noticed Mr. Weasley's frown deepen considerably from behind Bill and Fleur. 

Fleur raised a finessed eyebrow and pursed her lips slightly. "I 'ave met much stranger looking people zan even zis Draco Malfoy. Zo perhaps he eez alright. Perhaps 'e veel let me azzist 'im een looking better vile 'eez 'ere." Bill grinned beside her and squeezed her hand affectionately. 

Smiling at the thought of Fleur passing on fashion tips to Draco, Harry sank into the armchair next to Hermione. She glanced at him and cast a weary smile.

"Maybe I should go lie down now," she said in a small voice. 

A flurry of movement ensued then. Ron and Fleur began fighting immediately over who would help Hermione down the hall (she would stay in the master bedroom for now of course), so Bill swooped in without a word and picked her up easily, shaking his head as his brother and wife continued bickering even as he walked away. They followed a moment later. 

Harry watched with concern as Hermione allowed herself to be carried, resting her head tiredly against Bill's shoulder and closing her eyes. It occurred to him how close he'd come to losing her back there; a few more minutes and she'd have surely been dead. 

With a slight pang, Harry's thoughts returned to Draco, something that seemed quite inevitable as of late. Was he really alright? Whatever Hermione had done to his Dark Mark had hurt him terribly – Harry had never seen him lose control so completely before, even facing Voldemort's wrath – and he hadn't been in the greatest shape to start with. Not that he really knew what had gone on the last couple days with him, not since Draco had pushed him so easily away… Harry's stomach clenched tightly.

Suddenly filled with the need to check on Draco, make sure he hadn't passed out and fallen face-first in his cauldron, Harry stood. 

"Alright, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked. Harry jumped slightly. Mr. Weasley alone had remained in the room, so silent, Harry had nearly forgotten he was there. 

"Um, yeah," Harry answered hesitantly, kneading his hands together in front of him. "I was going to check on… the potion."

Mr. Weasley sighed. "Harry – "

"Lecture me all you want in the morning," Harry scowled, interrupting him. He'd never talked to the eldest of the Weasley clan in such a tone before, there'd never been a reason too. But, at the moment, he really didn't care. "It's obvious you don't believe me about any of this so – "

"_Harry_," Mr. Weasley held up a hand, "Calm down. Just… just hear me out, alright?"

Harry nodded tightly. 

"I do believe you, Harry," Mr. Weasley spoke in a strained voice, "And I can't begin to imagine what it's been like for you. Not… well, not ever really. You're a good person, Harry. A genuinely good person. And, well, you tend to see the best in people, you see – not that that's a bad thing!"

Knowing exactly where this was headed, Harry crossed his arms and bit his lip.

Mr. Weasley continued, "But, truth is, not everyone is quite so good."

"You don't say?" Harry commented coldly. 

Mr. Weasley's expression darkened a bit. "I'm sorry to be the one to say this, Harry – " 

"– then don't – "

"– but you really shouldn't trust Draco Malfoy. I've been acquainted with that family for years, since before either of you were born, and I just don't believe any son of Lucius Malfoy could turn out to be quite right. He's followed in his father's footsteps this far, Harry… what makes you think he won't keep going?"

Harry glared at the floor, not trusting himself to look up and possibly say something he'd later regret. "You're wrong," he ground out slowly, "Draco is nothing like his father."

Bill chose that moment to saunter back in the room. He stopped short however upon seeing the matching glowers on Harry and his father's faces. He glanced between them in surprise.

"Dad? Harry?" he asked carefully, "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" they both snapped simultaneously. Bill's eyebrows rose high onto his forehead.

"Clearly," he returned mildly. "Dad, shouldn't you be heading home soon? You know Mum gets worried when you're out this late. Besides, we've got everything under control here."

Mr. Weasley flushed faintly, possibly from being admonished and sent home by his own son, but he didn't argue. Harry felt rather relieved. 

"I suppose you're right," he sighed, tugging absently at the worn cuffs on his sleeves. "Harry, I want you to remember what I said. And I don't want any of you to let your guards down while he's here."

"While who's here, Dad?"

Mr. Weasley frowned sternly at Bill. "You do realize it was Draco who let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts last year, Bill? That he's the reason for…"

"For my face being mutilated beyond repair?" Bill finished flatly, fixing his father with an odd expression. "Yes, I know. I'm not stupid."

"Oh." Mr. Weasley's flush crept further up his neck. "Well, alright then." He half-turned to leave. "Um, tell Hermione that I hope she feels better soon."

Bill nodded. "Of course. Tell Mum we love her. And that we absolutely don't need her here again, clucking over us like a chicken."

Mr. Weasley smiled slightly. "I can't make any guarantees about that."

"_Try_," Bill insisted. 

Harry didn't say anything as Mr. Weasley bid farewell once more, disappearing outside into the inky darkness.

"Thanks," Harry said quietly, glancing at Bill. 

Bill smiled thinly in response. "I hope you're right about him, Harry."

Harry sighed. "I am. Just – trust me, okay?"

Bill nodded. "Okay, Harry," he said simply. He steered his eyes in the direction of the staircase. "You might want to go check on him – he didn't look too well."

Giving Bill a grateful look, Harry wordlessly made his way to the stairs. 

"Oh, and Harry?"

Foot poised in midair, Harry paused. "Yeah?"

Bill opened his mouth as if to say something, then as if thinking better of it, pursed his lips. Finally, he said, "After Hermione gets that potion, the lot of you are going to bed. We'll worry about everything else in the morning."

Harry nodded and continued up the stairs. Upon reaching the first door on his left, he swung it open, and was immediately accosted by the wafting fumes of potion making. 

Draco was bent slightly over a cauldron, stirring with rapt concentration with his good arm. The other he held awkwardly at his side, and Harry could see it was still trembling. 

"Hey," Harry said quietly. 

Draco didn't pause in his ministrations, continuing to stir methodically until finally, he made a satisfied face and stepped back from the cauldron. Harry studied him, noting with a pang that Draco indeed did not look well. His skin was taking on that grayish tinge as it had back in sixth year, and his lower lip was still split from Ron's blow earlier in the day. Most horrible of all, of course, was his arm, which seemed to tremble and convulse on its own accord.

"Sorry," he said wearily, swiping at his sweaty forehead. "I didn't want to lose count."

"It's okay," Harry said quickly. He took a step closer to Draco, suddenly overcome with the urge to wrap his arms protectively around him. Or something. 

"Are you sure you're alright?" Harry asked, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. 

Draco closed his eyes briefly, leaning into Harry's touch, then backed away with a sigh. "What do you think?" he asked flatly, busying himself with ladling the potion into a glass vial. "I'm surrounded by people who would just as soon see me thrown into Azkaban – which is consequently where I'll probably end up when all this is over – I might never see my parents alive again, my arm burns like a bitch, and to top it all off, I'm at the mercy of Weasleys," he gave a sardonic laugh. "I won't even begin to get into _that_ irony."

"At least you're alive," Harry snapped. When Draco didn't respond, Harry gave a sigh. "Look, Draco, I don't want to fight with you. I…I'm just glad you're here, that's all."

Popping a cork into the potion bottle, Draco's shoulders slumped slightly, looking very tired. "So am I," he said softly. "I'm grateful to be alive, Harry, I really am." He thrust the bottle into Harry's hands. 

"Make sure Granger drinks it all," he said shortly. "That is, if Weasley doesn't throw it out first. I'm sure he suspects I poisoned it." 

"He won't," Harry said firmly. He stepped back, eying Draco questioningly. "Will you be okay?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "What is it with you and that question?"

"Sorry."

"For the last time, Harry, do not apologize to me. Considering the things I've said to you in the last couple days…"

Harry shuffled his feet, looking away. The things Draco had said to him _had_ been awful, and though he knew why he'd said them, he couldn't pretend it hadn't hurt.

"Harry?" Draco asked softly. "You know I'm sorry about that, don't you? It's not as if I really meant those things…"

"Then why'd you say them?" Harry asked quietly, then shook his head. "Whatever. I get why, okay? It's just…it was kind of a shit way to go about it, you know?"

Draco sighed wearily. "You should go give the potion to Granger. I'll be down there in a minute – I suppose the elder Weasley's got a broom closet or something set aside for me to sleep in."

"Give Bill a chance," Harry said shortly. "He's all set to give you one."

Draco didn't answer, instead busying himself with cleaning up.

"Thanks for doing this for Hermione," Harry said quietly.

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "I owed her." He bowed his head slightly, suddenly looking as though he might fall over. And despite everything that had happened between them recently – or maybe because of it – Harry was suddenly overcome with a rush of emotion, and he stepped forward and wrapped both arms around Draco. 

Draco flinched slightly, as if he hadn't been expecting it, but then noticeably relaxed, bringing his good arm to rest against Harry's back, and leaning into the embrace with a small sigh. They stood like that for a moment, then thinking of Hermione guiltily, Harry pulled away but kept a steadying hand on Draco's shoulder. 

"Come on," Harry said softly. "You shouldn't be alone."

"I'm fine…"

"Okay, then maybe I shouldn't."

Draco looked at him with dubious gray eyes, then nodded with a small smile. "Lead the way."

Though he'd never say it, Harry could tell that maneuvering the stairs was more of an effort for Draco than he'd ever let on, so Harry kept a hand firmly on Draco's elbow. Finally, they reached the bottom of the stairs, and Harry made his way to the master bedroom, Draco trailing nervously behind him. 

Hermione lay curled in a ball under a mound of blankets, shivering slightly, her bushy hair splayed over a pillow. Ron was sitting cross-legged beside her, his fingers twirling thoughtfully in her hair with an odd look on his face. Feeling as though he were interrupting something, Harry cleared his throat. Ron's fingers stilled, and he gave Harry a small smile. 

"How is she?" Harry asked quietly, coming to a kneeling position on Hermione's side of the bed. 

"About how you'd expect," Ron said softly. 

"We need to give her this." Harry brandished the potion bottle from his pocket. "It'll help her, I swear."

Ron eyed the bottle suspiciously, his gaze darting to the doorway, where Draco had arrived to lean carelessly against the doorframe, as if moments before he hadn't been close to passing out. 

"Malfoy made this?" he asked with gritted teeth. 

"Yes," Harry snapped. He sighed. "It's okay, Ron. If you trust me at all…"

"Of course I trust _you_, Harry," Ron said with a scowl. He shot Draco another suspicious glare, which was met with a raised eyebrow. Then he looked at Hermione, still curled in a ball and shaking, and he gave a sigh of resignation.

"Okay," he said softly. He gave Draco a pointed look. "I swear to God, Malfoy, if this hurts her in any way…"

"Then I'll face your wrath along with the wraths of the thousands of Weasleys to come, if your family is any indication…"

"Bloody ferret," Ron muttered, but took the bottle from Harry nonetheless. 

He gently prodded Hermione's shoulders, and she raised her head shakily before letting it drop with a slight groan. 

"Here." Harry gently pulled Hermione into a sitting position, and she leaned against Ron without protest. Her eyelashes fluttered open, her glassy eyes looking dully around the room. 

"What's going on?" she asked, slurring slightly. 

Using his teeth to pop open the cork, Harry gave her a reassuring smile.

"Drink this for me, okay?"

Hermione nodded, looking somewhat queasily at the vial. Harry poured the potion slowly into her mouth, giving her sufficient time to swallow once, twice, and then cough slightly as she finished.

"That tastes awful," Hermione commented weakly. Ron shot a nasty look at Draco, as if he should have made sure the potion tasted like pumpkin juice before letting anyone else drink it. 

"Works though, doesn't it?" Draco drawled, only a little less convincingly than usual. 

Hermione cast a small, grateful smile in his direction. "Yes. I already feel a bit better. Thank you, Malfoy."

Even well past the point of exhaustion, Draco managed to look quite smug as Ron continued to shoot moody glances towards the door. Harry, on the other hand, didn't particularly fancy the idea of playing referee any longer that night. 

"Right then," he said, giving Hermione's hand a gentle squeeze, "I think we should all get to bed. We can talk about, er… things… in the morning."

Ron and Hermione nodded and said good night – Hermione graciously included Draco as well, who muttered something in return – before Harry followed Draco back down the hall in search of a place to sleep.

Harry was relieved to find two fluffy and very pink cots set up in the sitting room. Fleur seemed to have just finished setting them up and was currently dowsing sprinkles of some sweet-smelling liquid over their comforters. Standing to the side, looking rather bemused, Bill saw them and smiled, raising his shoulders in a helpless expression. 

"Ah, zere you are," Fleur said throatily upon noticing them. "I put ze sleeping tings out for you. Of course, you cannot sleep een zees beds looking zo feelthy!"

Not entirely sure what she'd just said, Harry nodded silently. Draco merely stared. After a few more charms that seemed to fluff the pillows to impossible heights, Fleur airily waved goodnight and disappeared up the stairs. 

"Um, sleeping things?" Harry asked, eyeing Bill.

Bill grinned. "Pajamas, toothbrushes, and a bar of soap for each of you. Fleur reckons you're both dirty enough to warrant use of your own." He chuckled softly. "Anyway, there's a bathroom at the top of the stairs."

"Thanks, Bill," Harry said.

Bill nodded and turned to leave. "I'll see you two in the morning."

A moment later, they had been left alone. Draco wordlessly picked up his pajamas, his back to Harry, and lowered his head slightly. 

"I don't really care to go back up the stairs tonight," he spoke haltingly, not turning, "so maybe you could just turn around. So I can change."

Harry had no illusions about how awful Draco must be feeling to admit to something like that, and he immediately conceded.

"Sure," he said quickly. "Um, of course, yeah. I'll just, er, turn around."

The soft rustling sounds of clothes being pulled off filled the room for a few minutes. Eventually, Draco told him he was done and Harry turned to find the other boy practically swimming in a pair of Bill's old pajamas. 

"These beds smell like roses," Draco muttered, turning down the blankets of the nearest cot. 

"That means we'll smell like roses in the morning," Harry replied lightly, not taking his eyes of Draco as he, very carefully, lowered himself into his bed. 

Draco snorted, curling onto his right side, away from Harry. "Bloody, sweaty, and generally un-bathed roses maybe." He let out a shuddering breath and his voice was slightly muffled by pillows when he continued. "Not that you don't always smell like that, Potter. Minus the roses."

Despite his weedy attempt at an insult, Harry would've liked nothing better than to crawl into bed with Draco right then, mold their bodies together and sleep peacefully for the first time in weeks. Much longer for Draco, he reminded himself. 

"I'll be back in a minute," Harry said after gathering his "sleeping things" into his arms. Draco mumbled softly in return. 

Harry started to head up the staircase but paused, gazing at Draco's nearly covered form several feet away. Only a bit of his pale, if somewhat dirty, blond hair remained visible amidst the sea of pink he was sunk in. Harry thought he looked very small and fragile. 

"Draco?" he said softly. 

"What, Harry?" Draco replied, barely audible, just as Harry thought he might be asleep already. 

"I'm really glad we're both here," Harry spoke in a quiet voice. "And I… Thank you. For everything." 

When Draco didn't reply, Harry sighed slightly and headed up the stairs. 

A quick shower later, and Harry was crawling tiredly into his own bed. He extinguished the light and relaxed into the squashy, rose-scented pillows with a soft contented groan. In the moonlit room, Draco's face, now facing Harry, looked an unearthly white and his hair appeared to be made of pure silver. He was also snoring ever so slightly. 

Harry fell asleep quickly to the smell of rose-petals and sounds of Draco's soft breathing across the room. 

Harry awoke, feeling vaguely disoriented, an indeterminate amount of hours later. Slivers of sunlight shone through the sides of flowery curtains, and the aroma of rose petals immediately assaulted Harry's nostrils. Glancing to his side after fumbling for his glasses, Harry breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing Draco, still fast asleep and practically buried in an ocean of pink. Flopping onto his back, Harry could hardly contain a grin. After weeks of torture and Voldemort's mind games, finally culminating in what he had perceived as Draco's betrayal – the universe had righted itself in some way. 

As per usual, once Harry's mind began to veer towards the subject of Draco Malfoy, he found himself unable to stop. And he could safely admit that he didn't particularly care to, either. Turning on his side, he felt slightly voyeuristic as he unabashedly watched Draco, the person who had inexplicably managed to weave himself into the center of Harry's universe, as he slept, oblivious to Harry's staring. He twitched slightly, as if somehow sensing Harry's gaze, his long, pale eyelashes fluttering. In his sleep he looked younger than he had ever looked, even when he had been very young. Harry couldn't help but wonder if sleep was the only time when Draco _could_ be young. Harry, though his life had been touched, quite literally, by evil for its entirety, had still managed to find moments of carefree happiness. Draco's life, on the other hand, had been dominated entirely by fear. He had hidden it well, of course, beneath layers of vindictiveness and arrogance, but it had been there. And yet Harry had hated him, had considered him somewhat less than human, and would have held any knowledge of that fear over him. Harry sighed; if only someone had told him at age eleven, or at thirteen, or even six months ago that the world wasn't black and white, that people were complicated and flawed irrevocably and therefore were not _just_ Death Eaters or _just_ Albus Dumbledore – or just Draco Malfoy or just Harry Potter. Sirius had tried, he supposed, and though he had heard him, he hadn't truly understood. But now, in a ridiculously pink room smelling of roses, Harry Potter supposed he must have grown up a little. 

Taking care not to disturb Draco, who obviously needed the sleep, Harry pushed his covers off his pajama clad legs, shivering slightly as they were exposed to the chilly air. Flinging his legs over the side of his cot, he gingerly touched his bare feet to the floor, shooting one more thoughtful glance at Draco before creeping quietly out of the room. 

As he began walking in the direction of the kitchen, he could suddenly make out the noticeable aroma of bacon, no longer precluded by the roses. Padding into the kitchen, he was pleasantly surprised at the sight of Mrs. Weasley standing in the center of the kitchen, busily waving her wand about as pancakes flipped, bacon and eggs fried, and toast popped continuously out of a toaster and buttered itself. Ron and Hermione were seated at the nearby breakfast table, and Harry was pleased to see that Hermione appeared bright-eyed and healthy once again. 

Apparently in the midst of scolding Ron, Harry could barely make out Mrs. Weasley's words, as he back was turned to him. "…don't hear from you for _weeks_ Ronald Weasley…you'd think you could at least send an owl to your own mother, do you know how worried I've been?"

Ron gave a muffled 'sorry,' his mouth full of eggs. Then, catching Harry's eye, he grinned in his direction, causing Mrs. Weasley to whirl around. Fixing her eyes on Harry, she gave a cry of delight before rushing forward to sweep him in a crushing embrace. 

"Harry! I've been worried sick about you!" She sniffed slightly, her arms threatening to cut off Harry's circulation, then suddenly she held him at arm's length, giving him a slight shake. "Don't you _ever_, ever do anything as foolish as running off by yourself again, do you hear me Harry Potter?" In spite of her stern voice, Mrs. Weasley's eyes were slightly teary, and Harry felt his heart give a slight lurch. Mrs. Weasley was the closest thing to a mother he'd ever really known, and with everything else that had occupied his mind over the last few weeks, he'd barely given a thought to how his disappearance must have affected her. 

"Sorry," Harry said softly, avoiding her eyes along with Ron's and Hermione's, which were suddenly fixed on him questioningly. 

"Well," Mrs. Weasley said with forced cheerfulness, giving him a slight smile as she released her hold on him. "That's all done with now, isn't it? I'm just glad you're alright, dear, although you're dreadfully skinny. But we'll fix that right now, won't we?" She gave him another smile, and with a stroke of her wand sent plates with food to the table, along with a glass of pumpkin juice. Harry stared at it dumbfounded for a moment, then with a grin of his own took a seat beside Hermione. 

"Honestly," Mrs. Weasley muttered indignantly as she continued to cook ( Harry wondered what army she thought she was cooking for), "the whole world has gone mad, expecting children to fight their wars for them…"

Harry supposed he was one of the "children" to whom Mrs. Weasley was referring, but refrained from correcting her as she continued to mutter to herself. 

Turning to Hermione, he asked, "how are you feeling?"

She smiled at him reassuringly. "Much better, actually. Much as it would have pained me to admit just a few months ago, Malfoy really does know his stuff when it comes to potions."

Ron, currently chugging his glass of pumpkin juice, swallowed violently and scowled, but thankfully didn't comment. Hermione shot him a nearly imperceptible look, after which he gave a small sigh. 

"How is the git?" he asked wearily, giving Harry an apologetic look, and Harry grinned thankfully at his effort. 

"He's sleeping still, which is a good thing, I guess."

Ron gave a snort of laughter at that, and Harry scowled at him, though his lips twitched slightly in spite of himself. 

"That's _not_ what I meant. What I meant is that he was in pretty bad shape yesterday, his arm's hurting him and all, and he probably needs the rest." He almost told them, at that moment, how complete Draco's sacrifices had nearly been, but with Mrs. Weasley still quietly fumbling about in the kitchen, undoubtedly listening to their conversation, he decided it was not the time. 

A good twenty minutes and countless pancakes later, Draco appeared in the doorway. He was fully dressed – his hair was damp from showering and he'd apparently spelled his own clothes clean – and for a split moment he looked uncertain and a little lost. Then, as all eyes in the room turned in his direction, the mask was immediately back in place, and he met all stares with a look of cool indifference. 

"Hey, Draco," Harry said, unable to keep the happiness from his voice. 

Draco gave him a curt nod in response. "Potter."

Mrs. Weasley, upon hearing Draco's name, turned around. A look of blatant curiosity swept quickly over her face, immediately replaced with a cheerful smile. 

"Hello, Draco, dear," she said in her most motherly tone. Then, surprisingly enough she stepped toward him, sweeping him into a hug. Draco's eyes bulged in surprise, his arms held stiffly at his sides as a perturbed expression flitted over his face. His eyes met Harry's questioningly, and Harry shrugged in return. 

She released him after a moment, giving him a kind smile. "We're very glad you're here with us, Draco."

Looking taken aback, Draco managed a shaky, "thank you."

"Now," she gave a slight tut, "you're absolutely nothing but skin and bones! Get over to that table this instant, and until you've eaten a good breakfast, I may not let you back up."

Looking absolutely bemused, Draco gave a nod of acquiesce, seating himself next to Harry as food and pumpkin juice materialized in front of him. 

"You poor kids," Mrs. Weasley said as she began cleaning and otherwise moving nervously about the kitchen. 

Ron rolled his eyes. "Mum, are you ever going to sit down and eat?"

Mrs. Weasley made an exasperated sound. "I ate hours ago, Ronald. And I can hardly sit down, with all there is to do – between seeing to you lot, making sure Percy is comfortable, worrying about my family - and of course the housework doesn't mind itself, and I've been helping out Nymphadora Tonks when I can, she's having a difficult pregnancy…"

"Tonks is pregnant?" Harry blurted in surprise. 

"Yes, dear. She's just a couple months along, but she's been having an awful time of it, and then with Remus leaving her…"

"What?" Harry asked in shock, surprised to find himself shaking slightly with something like anger and utter disillusionment with Lupin. "But…she's having a baby! _His_ baby! How could he just leave like that?"

"Oh, I'm sure they'll work things out, Harry," she said with a forced smile. "Times being what they are…he just needs a little time, I suppose. She's your cousin, isn't she, Draco?"

"Yes, ma'am," Draco said quietly, a paragon of politeness. Once again, Harry was slightly surprised by how quickly Draco could turn on the charm when need be. "I've just met her once, though, and it was a bit of an accident…" Paling slightly, he cast his eyes downward, taking a bite of toast and munching thoughtfully. 

"An accident?" Ron asked skeptically. 

"Yes," Draco snapped, but said nothing else. 

"How is Percy?" Harry asked quickly, deciding a subject change would be advantageous. 

Mrs. Weasley gave yet another apparently forced smile. "He's much better, Harry. They fixed him up quite well at St. Mungo's, and he's staying with Arthur and I at the moment." She pursed her lips slightly. "And if it ever comes up, the only thing I ever said to that horrible Skeeter woman was…" she pursed her lips again, sniffing indignantly. "Well, never mind that. It isn't suitable for children's ears."

Grinning madly, Harry ducked his head, continuing to eat. Shooting Draco a surreptitious glance, he was pleased to note that Draco was at least eating, and had slightly more color than the previous night, although his one arm was still held awkwardly across his lap. Harry reminded himself to ask about it as soon as Mrs. Weasley was finished stuffing them with food. But, with the way she was eyeing them all, that could take awhile. 

A somewhat awkward silence fell over the table for a few minutes, pervaded only by the sound of Ron's rather loud munching (despite the fact that three other people at the table were eating as well), until finally Hermione spoke up, rather loudly.

"How are the rest of the kids doing, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Oh, fairly well," she answered eagerly, obviously glad of something else to chat about. "I mean, all things considered, everyone is quite alright. Ginny just won't stop asking to quit school and come home, but we all know how stubborn she can be."

"And how stubborn you can be by saying no," Ron interjected through a mouthful of eggs. Mrs. Weasley frowned at him.

"Of course I'm saying no, Ron. Hogwarts is still the one of the safest places to be, after all. Even with Severus Snape as the headmaster."

Ron added, "And the Carrows as teachers?"

The sound of a fork clattering on a plate made them all turn to Draco who was staring at Ron. "The Carrows are _teaching_ at Hogwarts?" he blurted out, then immediately flushed slightly, as if he'd spoken out of turn.

Three pairs of eyes stared back at him curiously. Only Harry could imagine why learning such a thing would cause Draco to react like that. Obviously he knew things about them, things of a not so pleasant nature. 

"I'm not sure teaching is the right word for it," Mrs. Weasley replied a bit stiffly, "but it's not like they can _really_ hurt any of the kids there..." It sounded like she was trying very hard to convince herself of this fact.

Draco stared for a second longer before suddenly looking down at his food with unnatural interest. Ron frowned and opened his mouth to speak but Hermione, thankfully beat him to it.

"Well, of course they can't do anything to the students at Hogwarts," she spoke swiftly, "If anything, You-Know-Who wants them alive and on his side more than he wants them dead. Otherwise he would've just done away with all of them already."

Harry wasn't, he found, all too comforted. But, as he glanced at Mrs. Weasley, she appeared thankful for Hermione's efforts nonetheless. 

The remainder of the meal passed gradually by with Mrs. Weasley chattering nervously about whatever came to mind, interspersed with ordering them all – particularly Harry and Draco – to keep eating. By the time Harry had finished his last piece of buttered toast, he was fairly sure he'd have to stay in his chair for at least another week before moving became remotely possible again. 

Leaning back with a contented sigh, grinning at Hermione for informing Ron of a humungous lump of plum jam in his hair, Harry looked over at Draco, hoping he would appear just as comfortable in their new setting. He was sorely mistaken. Draco had stayed unnaturally quiet throughout the meal, considering it was usually a miracle unto itself to get him to shut up, and despite Mrs. Weasley's constant urgings, had eaten hardly anything compared to the rest of them. Actually, as Harry examined him more closely, he looked vaguely ill as he stared at the half-eaten sausages on his plate.

Apparently Harry wasn't the only one who noticed though as Hermione glanced worriedly at Harry, forehead furrowed in concern. Then they both glanced at Mrs. Weasley, wondering if she ever planned on leaving. Harry felt a pang of guilt at hoping she'd leave so soon, knowing she worried so much about all of them, but there were simply other things that needed to be seen to.

"That was great, Mum," Ron informed them all, then belched very loudly and patted his stomach. 

"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley and Hermione exclaimed simultaneously. Harry smirked at him. 

"I'll be back around dinner-time," Mrs. Weasley informed them, getting to her feet and casting several cleaning spells in a row that sent the kitchen into a frenzied hum of activity. When soapy water began slopping onto the table, they all hurried from the kitchen at once. 

Mrs. Weasley continued with her hands firmly placed on her hips, a fierce gleam in her eye. "I absolutely won't allow any of you to do anything but rest today, do you understand? If I hear about any of you, doing anything other than that, well –"

"Are we allowed to talk?" Ron interrupted. 

"Only if it doesn't interfere with your resting!" his mother snapped in return. 

She turned to Harry with a considerably gentler manner and pulled him into another crushing hug before he could say anything. 

"I'm so glad you're back, Harry, dear," she sniffed, swiping her eyes. 

"Me too," Harry answered, "thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley."

Mrs. Weasley smiled brightly and then directed her misty gaze at Draco. He seemed to freeze in place, probably wondering if he'd be subjected to another hug as well, and then appeared vastly relieved when she settled for grasping both his shoulders instead. 

"I know this must be hard for you, Draco," she spoke gently, "but know that my family and I will be here if you need anything. Alright?"

His hesitant nod was enough for another wave of tears to roll out of Mrs. Weasley's eyes. 

Ron and Hermione were treated to similar farewells, though Ron's included a good deal of scolding as well, until finally she disappeared through the front doors, heading to Apparate outside the cottage's wards. 

Alone for the first time since they'd escaped, Harry and Ron were immediately grabbed by Hermione and directed swiftly to the living room. Draco followed behind, a wary expression on his face.

"Oh, no you don't," Hermione warned when he tried to head to a distant couch by himself. 

Harry reached for his arm. "Let us see your arm, Draco. I know it's still bothering you." 

Draco's face began to form a scowl when Harry's fingers brushed lightly over his left forearm and he jerked away with a pained gasp, taking a step back.

"Don't touch it!" he hissed from between clenched teeth, cradling his arm to his chest possessively. For some strange reason, Harry felt disappointed as Draco glared at him and took another step back.

Hermione frowned. "I can't very well fix it if you won't let me see it," she said in a slightly exasperated voice. 

"What makes you think you can fix it, Granger?" Draco narrowed his eyes. 

"She's trying to help, you stupid git," Ron growled from behind Hermione. She cast him a scathing look over her shoulder as Draco snorted.

"Draco," Harry interjected, "quit being like that and just let her see your arm. Please?"

Draco considered him for a moment and then sighed loudly. "Fine," he snapped, thrusting his arm out in front of him, "but I doubt there's anything you can do anyway. It's a cursed wound, remember? You can't just spell it away."

"Yeah, I think I'm rather familiar with those," Harry snapped back, recalling each and every time his scar had throbbed and twinged over the years. All of those memories vanished suddenly as Hermione carefully lifted Draco's sleeve away from his forearm. They all leaned in closer for a better look.

The Dark Mark had never looked more real. It seemed to throb visibly, angrily, and was a deeper black than Harry had ever seen it. Draco's skin, on and around the pulsing creature, was a horrible reddish purple color and had a sheen-like texture to it that reminded Harry of a blister. Only he'd never seen anything like this before.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I'm pleased to say that the list gets longer and longer…Enigmus, Sarah, chrisvel, sv, DanuMarie, Dumbledude, Lamia, Luna-Lunak, Elara, brit, and neverenough. Thank you guys so much! **

**Chapter Fifteen**

Draco jerked his arm away, pushing down the sleeve with a scowl.

"There, you've all had your fun for the day, so if you'll excuse me…" he backed away from the trio, clutching his arm as if afraid it could be stolen.

Harry stepped forward simultaneously as if an invisible string were connecting the two of them. "Where are you going?"

Draco smirked, managing to look nonplussed; although Harry knew better. "Afraid I'll run away, Potter?"

"Of course not!" Harry said vehemently. "It's not like you have anywhere to go."

Draco's smirk faded. "No shit. Now, unless part of my house arrest is to stay and play nice with the Gryffindors…"

"House arrest?" Ron cut in angrily.

"Ron…" Hermione said warningly.

"No, Hermione, I have to say something. You­," he jabbed an angry finger in Draco's direction. Draco's eyes widened at the challenge implied, and his mouth twisted into its old sneer. "You are staying with _my_ family, Malfoy, and if you think it's because we could give two shits about what happens to you, you're sadly mistaken."

"Ron!" Harry bodily positioned himself between Ron and Draco, fearing the dangerous glint that had suddenly appeared in Draco's eyes.

"That isn't true," Hermione said weakly, sliding beside Harry.

"As if I could care what a bunch of Weasleys think about me," Draco spat in disgust. "You in your clap-trap house, breeding like rabbits, working to afford the latest head lice treatment, I imagine. My father always said…"

"Oh, so we're talking about your father now, are we?" Ron's face was flushed, his freckles standing out almost comically. "Well, while we're on the subject, you should ask your old dad about Azkaban. Because I've heard some stories myself, you know…but knowing your dad, he probably dropped the soap on purpose…"

Draco rushed forward with an angry cry, looking more furious than Harry could ever remember seeing him. Harry grabbed him before he could reach Ron.

"Stop it! Both of you!" Hermione cried shrilly. "You're both acting like children!"

"Stay out of this, Mudblood," Draco sneered, breathing heavily.

Ron punched him in the nose before Harry had time to react. Draco keeled back momentarily, then pitched forward, blood seeping out from his cupped hands. Furious at them both, Harry stood as if frozen.

"You idiots!" Hermione said angrily, pushing her way to Draco. He raised his head slightly, hands still cupped around his nose, his eyes gleaming with challenge.

"Well, it served him right!" Ron said defensively. He gave Harry a pleading look. "You heard what he called Hermione."

"It's just a word, Ron!" Hermione snapped. She scowled at Draco. "Take your hands off your nose, Malfoy."

"Hell no," Draco managed to spit out, his gray eyes glaring silver. Something about him suddenly reminded Harry of a dog that Dudley and his gang had cornered in an alley once, despite Harry's cries for them to stop.

Harry sighed, stepping forward beside Hermione. Ignoring Ron's undoubtedly incredulous look, Harry put a hand on Draco's shoulder, unsurprised to feel him trembling, and their eyes met.

"Let me see," Harry said quietly. "Please, Draco."

Draco removed his blood-covered hands without a word, standing impassively with his eyes staring blankly ahead even as Hermione moved in for a closer look.

"Well, it's not broken," she said with relief, casting a wordless spell to staunch the bleeding. Draco managed to look surprised, as if he'd thought Hermione would surely hex him in retaliation.

Keeping a hand on his arm, Harry gently guided him to sit on a couch. Ron watched, openmouthed, from across the room, then with a sound of outrage stormed out of the door.

Hermione watched him go with pursed lips, then shaking her head, settled on the opposite side of Draco.

"Okay, Malfoy," she said in a business-like tone. "Not that you gave me a chance earlier, but I actually do have something that will help your arm."

Draco gave her a dumbfounded look. "You still want to help me? What the hell is wrong with you, Granger?"

"A lot, I expect," she said dryly. She pulled something small from her pocket, enlarging it with her wand until Harry could plainly see a Muggle first aid kit. "Roll up your sleeve," she commanded.

Draco eyed the first aid kit skeptically. "Muggle medicine?"

"Yes," Hermione said sharply. "As you pointed out yourself, curse wounds cannot be healed with magic, and I don't dare try." When Draco failed to roll up his sleeve, Hermione gave a sigh of impatience, reaching over and carefully rolling it for him.

"But why would you want to help me?" Draco asked in apparent confusion.

"Lord knows," she muttered. She sighed, currently in the middle of opening a small jar. "Because, Malfoy, you're a human being – in spite of your best attempts to not act like one." Grabbing his wrist, she carefully dabbed white ointment over his inflamed skin.

"This should help with the pain," she said finally, replacing the jar in the first aid kit and shrinking it again. "Now, if you can promise to stay away from Ron for a few minutes, I'd like to talk to Harry alone, please."

Harry started, realizing he'd had a hand on Draco's right shoulder throughout the entire ordeal. Blushing slightly at Hermione's raised eyebrows, he removed it.

Draco rose to his feet, an inscrutable expression on his face. "Whatever," he said with a careless shrug, and without a backwards glance, left the room.

Hermione immediately erected silencing wards around them. "Well…" she began.

"I know what you're going to say, Hermione," Harry said, cutting her off. "And there's no excuse for what Draco said…_any_ of what he said, but I've gotten to know him pretty well, and…well, that's just what he does when he's feeling hurt or scared or…"

"Harry!" Hermione interrupted with a bemused expression "Harry, don't you think I know that?"

"I…what?"

Hermione sighed. "What's going on with you and Malfoy, Harry?"

Harry felt his blood freeze. "What do you mean?" he asked shakily. Hermione raised her eyebrows, shooting him an amused sideways glance.

Harry gave a groan of resignation, shutting his eyes and leaning back against the couch. "Are you going to tell Ron?"

"Aren't you?"

"He'll hate me."

"Of course he won't, Harry! Ron's your best friend, just because you're gay…"

"I don't know if I am," Harry said softly. Meeting Hermione's dubious look, he said, "I'm serious, Hermione. I've never liked boys before…I've never liked anyone like this before, actually."

"Oh, Harry," she said quietly.

"Don't start with me, please…"

"I'm not! Harry, I'm just concerned about you, you know that. I'm afraid Malfoy – Draco – will really hurt you."

"He won't," Harry said very softly. "He nearly died for me, Hermione. It's true," he said quickly, meeting her incredulous gaze. "And it was intentional – he was ready to give himself up _for me_, as if his life was nothing…he even said something like that…it must be what he really thinks, deep down. He thinks he's a coward, but he's not – he's brave and good and funny when he wants to be, and – God, Hermione, stop looking at me like that!"

"I wasn't aware I was looking at you in any particular way," Hermione said with a smile. She patted Harry's arm reassuringly. "Why don't you start from the beginning?"

So Harry did. From his first interactions with Draco in the dungeons, to his unsuccessful escape attempt and its repercussions, including the initial shaky alliance between Draco and himself. Harry continued, leaving nothing out, absolutely nothing, and it was the utmost testimony to his and Hermione's friendship that she didn't even blink.

"Well," she said when he was finally finished. "Well."

"Don't 'well' me, please…"

Hermione laughed. "Harry! Quit being so paranoid for a minute. You want to know what I think, honestly? First of all…I'm not surprised. Not a bit, really."

"What?"

"You heard me. I mean, think about it – you and Malfoy, well, it's somewhat inevitable, isn't it?"

"Inevitable…?"

"Harry, it's always come down to you and Malfoy, from the time we started school, almost as if you two existed in your own separate world. He was always after you, trying to get you to pay attention to him, and you – you were always glancing over at the Slytherin table, looking for Malfoy, working so hard to beat him at Quidditch…and sixth year, of course, you were completely obsessed with him…You've always been everything to each other, if you think about it, and I guess – I guess you've both finally realized it."

"So what do I do then?" Harry asked softly, meeting Hermione's brown eyes imploringly. "You know I'm not good at this sort of thing…"

"You seemed to be doing fine, Harry."

"No, I'm not. I don't know what to do for him when he's like this, when he's…hurting this much."

"You really care about him," Hermione said as a statement of fact.

"Yeah, I do," Harry said softly. "But I don't think he even knows that…or if he'd believe it…"

"Then tell him. And show him. And tell him some more. Repeat if necessary." She gave his arm a squeeze, rising to her feet. "Go get dressed, Harry. Then go spend time with Draco. I'll work on Ronald, don't worry."

Harry nodded doubtfully. "Just… maybe you should leave out a few of the details, you know… for now."

"Ron will simply have to deal with it," Hermione replied with a slight frown. At Harry's worried face, she added quickly, "but perhaps I'll smooth over certain things. For now."

Though Harry seriously doubted he'd ever share those particular details with Ron, he nodded in agreement and stood.

"Thanks, Hermione," he said and looked down, suddenly feeling a bit bashful about his impromptu confession.

"Of course," she replied briskly. "And I'm really glad you told me."

Harry glanced up. "Really?"

She flashed him a rueful smile. "Well, yes. Not that I don't find you terribly adept at handling relationships, Harry…"

Knowing she was right, Harry smiled half-heartedly in return.

After an affectionate pat on the arm and an encouraging, I-know-you-can-do-it smile, Hermione wandered off in search of Ron with a determined look on her face. Harry smiled slightly. If anyone could deal with Ron in all his irate, red-headed glory, it was definitely Hermione.

Now, what to do about Draco.

Harry found his Slytherin companion sitting alone in the kitchen, moodily nursing a steaming mug of coffee and glaring daggers into the table.

"Hey," Harry greeted, feeling a bit awkward. He shuffled his feet a few times before rapidly taking a seat beside Draco.

"Finished talking about me so soon?" Draco snapped. His glare didn't recede.

Harry sighed and decided to take a very Gryffindor approach to the situation.

"I told Hermione everything."

At this, Draco did raise his eyes. He looked very out-of-sorts for about two seconds before training his features into a very disinterested expression and casually sipping his coffee.

"Did you?" He sipped again, the very epitome of nonchalance.

Harry nodded and raised his eyebrows. "And guess what? She didn't go running for the hills. So I guess my friends aren't as bad as you thought. Because I really did tell her everything."

Draco drummed his fingers against the side of his mug. "You told her all about touching each other's cocks," he said blatantly, and not the least bit quietly.

Sincerely hoping Ron was not within earshot, Harry nodded again. The action was beginning to feel rather repetitive. "Yeah, I did."

"Hmm." Draco remained obstinately unemotional. "And Weasley?"

"Ron is his name," Harry replied, a tiny note of irritation creeping into his voice. At least with the obnoxious, insulting Draco, Harry could understand what was going on. "And Hermione is talking to him. I doubt he'll be overjoyed but he's my friend, Draco, and I know he'll calm down after a bit."

Draco glanced at him sideways. "Calm down about you having some poncy moments with me, or calm down about you thinking I'm not the very embodiment of evil?"

Harry sighed in frustration. He also felt rather stung by Draco's comment but let it slide for the time being. "Both, alright? Now could you please quit being such a prat and tell me what the fuck is wrong?"

A small surge of triumph ran through him when Draco visibly bristled and his veneer slipped ever so slightly.

"Don't be dense, Potter," Draco replied, then rolled his eyes. "Then again, I know that's rather hard for you."

"Are you worried about your parents?"

Finally, the mask of indifference vanished completely from Draco's face and he appeared to de-age several years before Harry's eyes. Looking young and lost, Draco stared hard at the remaining dredges of his coffee and, when he spoke again, his voice was distinctly missing its cutting edge.

"Ten points to Gryffindor," he quipped. Draco grimaced as he swallowed the last of his mug. He then set it down it down with clatter and sighed. Harry didn't press any further, knowing full well the other boy would only talk about it if he wanted to; instead, he slipped his hand quietly into Draco's and was relieved when he didn't pull back.

"They both loved me, you know," Draco spoke suddenly, his voice very soft.

"Love, Draco," Harry corrected, realizing with a pang that Draco had already written them off as dead. "They love you."

Draco scowled slightly. "I know what you're thinking. About my father, my mother. How they're not good people."

Harry hadn't actually been thinking about the Malfoys at all, save for their son, but he didn't interrupt.

"But they believed in family over everything. Even… Voldemort."

Draco shuddered as he said the name and Harry squeezed his hand tighter.

"And, in the end, they did as much as they could, really. My father helped us escape."

He looked up then, a guarded, almost challenging expression in his grey eyes, as if daring Harry to contradict his words.

Harry offered a sad smile. He didn't know what Draco was talking about, as it had obviously happened during their two days of discord, but he silently thanked Lucius Malfoy for whatever it was he'd done.

"If they're gone," Harry said slowly, "then at least they sacrificed themselves for something good."

Draco's gaze abruptly tore away from Harry's. "Did they?" he scoffed, attempting to sound joking but failing rather miserably.

"Yes," Harry insisted. The doubtful expression from Draco made him feel sadder than he had in a long time. "Obviously they knew you were worth saving. And so do I. Don't you know that by now?"

Ignoring the latter half of Harry's comment, Draco said, "More likely they were just concerned about passing on the Malfoy line." He snorted. "Good thing they didn't follow my extracurricular activities too closely. The Malfoy heir disappoints once again. Alert the media."

"Stop." Harry grabbed Draco's chin with his other hand and forced him to meet his eyes. "You don't believe that. Besides," he added, "as you pointed out, I'm rather dense and I still figured out you were a poof – even before I figured that out myself, for that matter – so do you really think your parents didn't know?"

Draco raised an eyebrow slightly. "As I recall, yours was a lucky insult, Harry. Something about me sleeping my way around the ranks, if I'm correct."

"Draco," Harry blushed deeply, "we've said a lot worse stuff than that to each other. And don't change the subject."

"Whatever," Draco muttered, wriggling to release his chin from Harry's grasp. "I get it, okay? You're blessed with the eternal optimism befitting a Hufflepuff. Good for you. Bravo. I, on the other hand, take a more realistic approach to things."

"By writing off people as dead?" Harry asked bluntly.

Draco swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion. "Yes," he said hoarsely, looking down at the table. "Until there's evidence to the contrary, then – yes. It's better to just…accept it now."

"Draco," Harry said shakily, feeling a burgeoning lump in his throat. He gave Draco's hand another squeeze. "You don't know that for sure."

"Vol…" he swallowed again, nervously. "Voldemort said before that he'd kill my family if I failed him, Harry."

"Voldemort says a lot of things. He's a lying, manipulative bastard, and you know it. Look," he said firmly, knowing he was getting nowhere. "There has to be a way – a safe way, that is – to get messages in and out of Malfoy Manor so you can talk to your parents. Or, I know – I'll talk to Lupin for you, maybe he can even pass along a message, I don't know."

Draco bristled slightly at the mention of Lupin, which Harry noticed but decided not to comment on. There was a pregnant pause, after which Draco said, very softly, "Thank you." He gave Harry's hand a crushing squeeze, all the while casting his eyes downward to the tabletop.

"It's the least I can do," Harry said quietly. "I mean it, Draco," he said quickly, meeting Draco's doubtful gaze. "I'd probably be dead if it weren't for you."

"Highly doubtful," Draco muttered, wrenching his eyes away from Harry once again. "Without me holding you back, you probably would have escaped a long time ago." He said this jokingly; yet as always, his eyes betrayed him.

"You never held me back, Draco," Harry said firmly. He placed a hand gently on the back of Draco's head, running his fingers carefully through the silky strands. Draco closed his eyes, looking for the moment like a contented feline.

"You gave me a reason to keep going, a reason to not curl up on the floor and die…I – I can't imagine how things would have been…without you…or how they'd be now."

Draco opened his eyes, a serene expression on his face. He leaned his head backwards into Harry's touch, closing his eyes once more with a contented sigh.

"Yes, do keep going, Potter. Tell me I'm charming, and witty – not to mention devastatingly handsome…"

"You are, you know," Harry said softly. Draco's eyes fluttered open in apparent surprise, then he smirked sardonically.

"Gryffindors," he said, rolling his eyes. Then his gaze locked with Harry's, his lips parted slightly, and Harry leaned forward and kissed him softly on the mouth.

It was different than their other kisses, gentler, somehow, less desperate and demanding. It was –Harry decided, as their lips and tongues danced leisurely together – a kiss of comfort and familiarity, a kiss that spoke of springtime and summer barbeques and countless sunny days. He felt Draco sigh against his mouth, felt his fingers grip the backs of his shoulders, kneading them softly.

A loud cough from across the room made them jump simultaneously apart, revealing a red-faced Ron standing with an apparently unfazed Hermione.

"Glad to see you two are working things out," Hermione said briskly, unable to keep the amusement from her voice. "Perhaps you'd like a few minutes…"

"No," Harry muttered, knowing his face had to be flaming.

Draco smirked, throwing an arm haphazardly over Harry's shoulders. "What, do you want to watch, Granger? Kinky…yet intriguing."

Ron made a strangled choking noise, his face reddening.

"So why did you date Ginny, then?" Ron blurted out suddenly, impossibly red.

"Because, Weasley," Draco said before Harry could answer, "it was the closest he could come to dating you. Didn't you know?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry said, "Why do you think, Ron? I dated Ginny because I liked her. And…I like Draco. I like him a lot," he concluded softly.

"He's using me for sex," Draco quipped, looking pleased at Ron's look of horror. "Bondage, mostly." He smirked, yet looked unequivocally touched by Harry's declaration, his arm tightening possessively around Harry's shoulders.

Looking vaguely ill, Ron took a seat at the other end of the table, and Hermione sat beside him.

Gently removing Draco's arm from his shoulder, Harry leaned forward on his elbows to face Ron, who refused to meet his gaze. "Well?" Harry said after a moment. "Aren't you going to say something?"

Ron shrugged. "There isn't much to say, is there? Apparently you're into blokes – something you never cared to share with your best friends until now – not that that's a problem," he said quickly. "Honestly, if you had told me, it wouldn't have mattered at all. It's just the fact that you didn't tell me…"

"I didn't know!" Harry cut in angrily.

"Yeah, whatever, okay? Like I said, it doesn't matter. Then there's just…I mean, it's Malfoy, Harry! No offense," he said quietly to Draco, who raised an eyebrow in response. Addressing Draco, he continued. "Hermione told me about everything you did for Harry – what you were willing to do. I reckon you must really care about him," he concluded softly.

Glaring at the tabletop, Draco simply shrugged.

Ron sighed, turning his attention back to Harry. "I'm going to try – for your sake. You and Hermione mean… a lot to me…you know that. But if I'm going to try, _he's_ going to try." He nodded his head towards Draco. Draco raised his head, meeting his eyes incredulously.

"I mean it, Malfoy," Ron said firmly. "I'm willing to give you a chance – because you helped Harry, and because you're important to him. But you're going to meet me halfway – no cracks about my family and how poor we are, especially seeing as we're the ones feeding you and giving you a place to stay – and I never want to hear you say that word to Hermione again. Or to anyone, for that matter. Do you think you can do that?"

Draco resumed staring at the tabletop for a moment, and for an instant Harry was worried he wasn't going to answer. Finally, he nodded.

"Okay," he murmured softly, raising his head slowly. "I'll try – you have my word at that, Weasley."

Smiling, Harry reached for Draco's hand, giving it a squeeze before dropping it. "Thanks. To all of you," he added quietly.

"Boys," Hermione said affectionately, rolling her eyes. "Well, now that we've got that quite sorted out…"

"Er, right," Harry said. "I guess now would be a good time to discuss…certain things."

"Right," Hermione replied, glancing furtively in Draco's direction, the implication of which was not lost on Harry. "Or perhaps we should wait until later…I mean, Bill and Fleur will be home any second." She gave Harry an apologetic look, and he scowled in return.

"I think now's the perfect time," Harry said indignantly.

"Granger's right," Draco said coolly, standing to his feet. "I'm sure you Gryffindors have important matters to discuss – so I'll leave."

"Don't," Harry snapped, grabbing onto the edge of Draco's shirtsleeve. Glaring at Ron and Hermione, he said, "Anything that needs to be said can be said in front of Draco."

Finally looking flustered, Hermione said, "It's not that, Harry."

"Then what, exactly?"

Hermione sighed. "It's not that I think we shouldn't trust Draco…obviously, he's earned every bit of our trust. It's just that Dumbledore didn't even want you to tell the Order about…well, you know what…"

"Horcruxes," Harry said flatly. "You can say the word, you know."

"Horcruxes, then," Hermione said briskly, looking slightly annoyed. "Yes, Harry, if I'm to be honest, I don't think anyone else should know about the Horcruxes. Not when Dumbledore said…"

"Maybe I don't give a fuck what Dumbledore said!" Harry said angrily. "He said a lot of things, and half the time didn't even explain himself to me! And you know what? If he'd just listened to me about Snape, he'd probably still be alive! So I think that since the task was entrusted to me, and if I trust Draco enough to let him in on it, that should be good enough for you."

"He entrusted the task to _us_, Harry," Hermione said softly, looking slightly hurt. "Not just you."

Harry sighed. "I know," he said wearily. "I didn't mean for it to sound like that."

Draco tugged out of Harry's grasp, scowling. "If you're all finished talking about me as if I'm not here, then I'll just be on my way."

"Wait a second," Ron said. All eyes turned on him in surprise. "I think Harry's right, Hermione. The way I see it, we're going to be stuck with Malfoy for a long time. No offense," he nodded to Draco. "And if we don't trust him – well, who's to say he'll trust us with anything he might know? Sure, it's a bit of a gamble, but trusting is always a gamble, isn't it?" Turning to Hermione, he said, "Harry chose to tell us about the Horcruxes, Hermione. He didn't have to, but he knew he could trust us. And, well, if Harry thinks he can trust Malfoy, then that's good enough for me."

"I trust Draco completely," Harry said firmly. "As much as I trust both of you."

Hermione sighed. "And I trust you, Harry. And if that means trusting Malfoy by proxy, then so be it." Turning to Draco, she said, "you might as well have a seat, Malfoy. That is, if you still want to be here."

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, reclaiming his seat beside Harry. "It's not as if I have anything better to do," he drawled casually, yet Harry could tell that his interest was piqued.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, after which Hermione gave a nervous chuckle. "Alright, where to begin?"

"Er…" said Harry.

"We could start by explaining to Malfoy about the Horcruxes," Ron suggested.

"That's a start, I suppose," Hermione said. "Do you know anything at all about them, Draco?"

"Other than the fact that they inspired some truly horrendous poetry…no."

"Well," she continued, after quickly blinking in confusion. "I guess the shortest explanation is that a long time ago, Voldemort…"

"Say You-Know-Who!" Ron cut in uneasily.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "_You-Know-Who _decided he wanted to live forever. And the way he achieved this was by splitting his soul in seven pieces – his Horcruxes. Each piece is contained in some object – although a living thing could possibly be a Horcrux, although it seems rather impractical to me, seeing as it could be easily killed – but anyway, Voldemort…sorry, Ron, You-Know-Who made these Horcruxes and hid them so that he couldn't be killed. This was why he wasn't completely killed when his own killing curse bounced off Harry when he was a baby and hit him…his Horcruxes kept him alive, although in a weakened state. That is, until Wormtail helped restore him to full strength."

Draco groaned. "So basically, we're fucked."

"If you want to be pessimistic, maybe," Hermione said with a frown. "But out of seven Horcruxes, we've already destroyed three – one of them, Tom Riddle's diary, Harry destroyed back in second year with a Basilisk fang…" Harry saw Draco give him a questioning look – they would have much to discuss later. Hermione continued, "then there was Marvolo Gaunt's ring, which Dumbledore took care of – and lastly," she took a deep breath, turning her attention to Harry. "Harry, Ron and I destroyed Slytherin's locket."

"What? How did you find it?"

"Kreacher, actually," Hermione said with a smile. "Haven't I always said we should treat house elves better? Maybe now you'll start listening to me."

Ron rolled his eyes. "It's not as if he was that helpful, really. It just kind of came out that he'd kept the locket in that nest of his – so we took it."

"Then," Hermione cut in, "we were hiding out in the woods for awhile – the Ministry has gone absolutely insane – they've taken to rounding up all Muggle-born witches and wizards, putting them on trial like criminals, then taking their wands. And since they're watching the Borrow so closely, Ron and I had to leave so we could keep looking for Horcruxes – and for a way to get you from the Manor, Harry. Believe me, we never once forgot about you."

"Yeah," Ron interjected softly. "But anyway, we were in the woods for awhile, just hiding out, without a clue as to what to do with the locket, and then one night I saw a Patronus – a doe Patronus – and I followed it a little ways, and it led me to a sword. Turns out, it was the Gryffindor sword, and it destroyed the locket."

"A doe Patronus?" Draco asked, his forehead creasing thoughtfully.

"Yeah. Seen it before?"

"I think so…maybe…but I don't know whose it could be."

"Maybe it was Lupin or Tonks, or another Order member," Harry suggested.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know anyone with a doe Patronus, Harry. But anyway, the long and short of it is that someone's been looking out for us. That's how I knew to look for a way to remove the Dark Mark – someone, I'm assuming the same someone who sent the Patronus, sent me an owl…we weren't having many leads at the time, so I figured it couldn't hurt."

More than a little perturbed, Harry decided he'd worry about their mysterious protector at a later time.

"So that's three down," Draco said brusquely. "You said there were seven."

"Er, yeah," Harry said. "Well, Dumbledore was pretty sure the Hufflepuff cup was one – I saw it in his Pensieve – Tom Riddle tried to convince Hepzibah Smith to sell both the cup and the locket, but she refused, so he killed her and framed her house-elf…the cup and locket disappeared after that."

"And we're fairly convinced that Nagini, the snake, is a Horcrux," Hermione added.

"So that leaves just two things," Draco cut in, frowning thoughtfully, "something from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor probably."

Hermione beamed, obviously thrilled Draco had caught on so quickly. "That's what we thought too!"

"Only thing is, we have no clue what they are…" Ron continued, looking glum.

"Well, it's probably more obvious that you think," Draco retorted primly, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. Harry though he seemed a bit smug suddenly, quite aware of his own intelligence – which he did have, despite what Harry had thought back at Hogwarts. "I mean, he wasn't very creative was he? The Hufflepuff cup, Slytherin's locket, his pet snake? If it had been me, I would've used a bunch of rocks and scattered them around the globe."

"But you wouldn't, would you?" Hermione asked, barely hiding her alarm. "Create Horcruxes, that is?"

Harry shot her a slightly irritated look while Draco just smirked.

"I'll try to contain myself," he answered shortly.

Cutting back in before Hermione and Ron could voice their reproachful expressions, Harry said, "Voldemort is insane, basically." Ron winced. "He's not stupid, but he's so enamored by himself and his own abilities that he probably never thought anyone would figure out about his Horcruxes at all, let alone destroy them."

"Lucky for us," Draco quipped.

Harry nodded, then added darkly, "I would've liked it better if he'd never made them in the first place. Then he would've died the first time he tried to kill me."

"Hogwarts wouldn't have been nearly as interesting," Ron joked. "No giant trolls, no Polyjuice potion, no Dementors…" He trailed off.

No unloving, abusive family, no near-death experiences, no prison-ravaged Sirius… no dead Sirius… The list went on and on. Harry didn't voice any of it.

"So," Hermione cleared her throat, breaking the sudden awkward silence, "enough about the Horcruxes for now. When Bill and Fleur get home we can't risk them overhearing anything."

They each agreed silently.

"What about my Mark?" Draco asked after a moment. His face was trained into a neutral mask, but his anxiety was rather obvious nonetheless. Draco reflexively pulled his injured arm closer to his body.

Hermione's expression brightened and Draco raised both his eyebrows in response.

"No, no!" she spoke quickly, "it's not that I'm glad you have it or anything – obviously – but it is rather fascinating, you have to admit."

"I worry about her sometimes…" Ron muttered. Hermione shot him a look and he immediately shut up, reddening slightly.

For the second or third time since he'd gotten back, Harry found himself wondering over the changed nature of Hermione and Ron's relationship. He decided to ask about it later; seeing as he had spilled everything so very indelicately onto Hermione's lap, she probably would return the favor. But perhaps without quite as many details…

Hermione continued. She leaned further and further over the table as she talked, every bit the excited academic that Harry had become so acquainted with over the years. "Like I said earlier, someone sent me a message a while ago that, more or less, suggested it would be beneficial to know how to break the Dark Mark. It wasn't long after you were captured, Harry, so I assumed Voldemort – honestly, Ronald! – had Marked you, perhaps for tracking purposes or something… Anyway, do you know anything about it yourself, Draco?"

Draco shook his head negatively and, if he was surprised at the use of his first name, it didn't show.

"It's a bit difficult to explain," Hermione said, biting her lip and then frowning at Ron's enthusiastic nod beside her, "so I'll give you the best explanation I can and then, if you'd like, I took a few notes about it. You're more than welcome to read them, of course."

Harry resisted the urge to smile. Hermione's idea of a few notes would likely translate, in reality, to several feet worth of parchment.

"I know it's some version of the Protean Charm," Draco spoke, sounding a bit tentative, "because that's what I used last year to communicate back and forth with Madame Rosmerta." It went unspoken that the bar-maid had also been Imperiused by Draco at the time.

Hermione simply nodded. "Right. Which you copied from me, if I'm correct. The DA coins."

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "It was a good idea."

"Lucky for us you decided to break up the DA that year," Harry added in, mimicking Draco's earlier jest. He was ignored.

"But the Protean Charm doesn't explain everything," Draco urged on.

"No," Hermione sighed, "and I don't understand all of it myself, unfortunately… But the part of it that he uses to summon the Death Eaters is rather simple, actually. It's a summoning charm, an _Accio_, of sorts."

"But you can't use _Accio_ on a person, can you?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. "And that's where the actual Mark comes into being. I don't know what Vol – You-Know-Who uses to place them, but when he summons his followers, they feel it in their Marks. Right, Draco?"

"Like the Mark wants to leave my arm but it can't," Draco said slowly, clearly catching onto Hermione's theory. Harry, beginning to understand as well, felt a little sick.

"Voldemort summons his followers," Hermione continued, head bobbing enthusiastically, "but he's not really summoning the person per say, but the actual Mark. And that's why it hurts, because it's physically trying to detach from your arm, but due to whatever Voldemort used to hold it there, can't."

"Lovely," Draco drawled, looking slightly grey.

Hermione cast him an apologetic look, and went on. "So then comes the really theoretical part of it: how does Voldemort track each individual Mark? How does he know where they are, and who they are, at all times?" She shook her head with a vaguely pained expression. "I _still_ can't figure out how exactly he does that… But I understand the concept from, well, Muggle technology actually."

Harry widened his eyes in surprise while Draco's face transformed into one of sheer incredulousness. Draco opened his mouth to speak but Hermione beat him to it.

"Just hear me out, alright?" she said with a frown. "Obviously, it's worked so far, so I must have done something right."

The sour look didn't leave Draco's face but he shut his mouth and indicated for her to continue.

"Right," Hermione said, "Muggles have lots of tracking technology, the most advanced of course through the government – mostly having to do with cars and mobiles actually, so I did a little research on that, and about disrupting it, combined with the Ministry's own tracking spells on underage magic, until I thought I had enough to create my own spell."

"You created your own spell?" Harry interrupted, grinning and feeling inexplicably proud of Hermione for so thoroughly breaking the law. Ron shot him a matching grin from across the table.

She nodded, a bit flustered by their reactions. "Well, yes. Under any other circumstances of course, I would never have done it. It's dangerous after all, as you well know, Harry…"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Congratulations on breaking the rules, Granger. Now please tell me what you did."

With a final stern glare at Harry and Ron, Hermione snapped back into lecturing mode, continuing her explanation. "Somehow, Voldemort uses the Dark Marks to track and recognize each person who bears one, through individual magical signatures, just like companies can track individual phones through their unique electrical signals." She took a breath. "So, what my spell does, to put it simply, is disrupt the signal that's sent out through your Mark, Draco. I had no idea it would hurt as much as it did – does – but it makes sense really… the spell is essentially trapping the magic, the dark magic, of the Mark inside your arm, rather than allowing it to transmit to Voldemort and give up your location." Hermione drew in another steadying breath as she finished talking, watching for Draco's reaction somewhat apprehensively.

Draco sat silently for a moment, staring at the table. Harry desperately wanted to grab Draco's hand. For the first time, Harry was grasping the kind of pain, both physical and mental, that Draco had to be feeling in regards to his Mark; he felt nearly as ill as Draco looked.

Finally, Draco lifted his head, and raised an eyebrow. "Well," he said calmly. "That can't be good for my health, can it?"

* * *

Over a year ago now, when Draco had willingly offered up his soul to the Dark Lord, he had envisioned glory, fame, respect… any and all sorts of grand adventures had seemed possible. His mother's heartbroken tears had finally begun to reach Draco's conscience in the dreadful months that followed; only, by that point, nothing could be done. Draco's first sign of hesitation, his first barely discernable moment of queasiness over the task to come, and Voldemort had calmly called Draco to him. That night, in the aching familiarity of Lucius' study, Draco was coolly informed that, were he to fail, his parents would be killed. And it wouldn't be quick. Draco had nodded, left in a near daze, and promptly thrown up afterwards.

Sitting at a Weasley's drably decorated kitchen table, surrounded by overanxious Gryffindors, and Draco felt oddly irritated by their concern. He had chosen this, stupidly, naively, but chosen nonetheless. As much as he'd attempted to drill this particular fact into Harry's skull, he persistently seemed to look at Draco with something akin to pity in his eyes, as if Draco had been forced into that decision. The cursed wound, or whatever it was, only served as a reminder of what Draco willingly had committed himself to. His arm ached spectacularly, despite the funny Muggle medicine he'd been given, and Draco shifted it slightly, but that did little to alleviate the burn. He let it settle in his lap with a faint sigh.

"I don't think it will have any long-term effects," Hermione said earnestly, twisting her hands together. "As long as it's confined to your Mark, the dark magic shouldn't hurt you. I mean, more than it already is… But…" She paused, tears glistening in her wide eyes. "I'm really sorry, Draco. I wish there was another way… But we're going to have to repeat the spell every sixty-six hours. I'm really sorry!" Hermione finished in a rush and a few tears promptly escaped her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks.

Draco felt slightly embarrassed, yet moved, at the same time by her obvious distress. Considering that last night – was it only last night? – he had cast a powerful Cruciatus on her, watching her writhe on the floor in agony. And here she was, literally _crying_ over his prospective pain.

It was enough to move Draco past his defensive urge to snap out some scathing comment, and he spoke in as soothing a tone as he could currently muster. "It's alright." Draco cleared his throat when his voice came out a bit scratchy. "If your insane Muggle theory keeps... Voldemort at bay, then I can deal with it. Besides, I've felt worse."

Reflecting back, the mind-numbing pain of the spell, complete with a loss of control Draco had never before experienced, his statement seemed an utter lie. Harry's worried gaze spoke of this knowledge as well.

"Why sixty-six hours?" Ron piped in.

"It's a bit difficult to explain, Ron," Hermione said, wiping a hand across her face. "You really should have taken Arithmancy. You too, Harry. Draco did."

Ron's perpetually inflamed face reddened another shade. "Oh," was all he said.

Draco understood the significance of the numbers quite well, though he was glad Hermione had already figured it out as he really didn't care to dwell on this subject any longer. Not for another day or so, at least.

"What are we going to do about Kreacher?" Harry asked, abruptly changing the subject. Draco had nearly forgotten about the house-elf – last he'd seen of him, Kreacher had taken refuge under the stairs, muttering to himself all the while.

"He's your house-elf, Potter," Draco said condescendingly. "He'll do whatever you want him to do."

Hermione opened her mouth as if to say something, but luckily, Harry beat her to it.

"I know that, _Draco_," he said pointedly. "But the question is, should I send him back to Grimmauld Place, or should I keep him here with us?"

"Send him back," Ron said quickly. "He's a nasty little bugger."

Shooting Ron a look which made him somehow even redder, Hermione said, "He also saved our lives, Ron. Don't forget it. But for all practical purposes, I'll have to agree that yes, you should send him back. He doesn't have any real loyalty to you, Harry, as I'm sure you'll recall…"

"Yes, I remember," Harry said with an oddly pained expression, causing Draco to give him a questioning look. Seeing it, Harry shook his head slightly. Perhaps irrationally, Draco felt a small stab of annoyance; after all, Ron and Hermione had the benefit of knowing every back-story, could fit in every puzzle piece to see the whole picture. Suddenly poignantly aware of how little he really knew, Draco felt more out of the loop than ever.

"Okay, so we'll send him back," Harry said firmly. He felt Harry's hand suddenly entwine with his own under the table, and he looked at him in surprise, but didn't pull away. Ron appeared oblivious to the action, but Hermione, meeting his eyes, gave him a knowing look. Draco smirked, moving his chair closer to Harry.

"So," Ron said, reddening slightly, "was there anything else we needed to talk about?"

"Well," Hermione said, "I guess we should be thinking of a good time to leave – I mean, as nice as it was to actually sleep on a bed…"

"You mean, we're going somewhere without beds?" Draco asked incredulously. Seeing all eyes staring at him, he grinned widely, nudging Harry with his elbow. "That will make certain activities rather difficult, won't it, Potter?"

Ron, predictably, made a choking sound. Harry, looking decidedly flustered as well, sputtered, "he's just kidding, Ron."

"Yes, of course," Draco said silkily, slightly hurt in spite of himself. Then he smirked, in control once again. "We usually don't bother with beds, Weasley. Sometimes it's the floor, sometimes it's a couch, or bent over a chair…"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron, who looked precariously close to throwing up. "Honestly, Ronald, can't you see he's trying to get to you? And you," she gave Draco a pointed look, her lips twitching slightly. "You did say you'd try."

"He is," Harry said, surprisingly. Grinning, he gave Draco's hand a squeeze. Having rather expected an annoyed Harry, Draco was momentarily taken aback.

"Anyway," Hermione said, smiling despite herself, "I think we should see about leaving within the next couple of days. That way we can all rest a little, and Draco, I can do the spell for your arm again." She looked apologetic again, making Draco squirm slightly in discomfort.

"Lovely," Draco said with forced cheerfulness, ignoring Harry's blatant look of concern. Honestly, didn't he know that the last thing Draco wanted was his pity?

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, during which Draco stared at the tabletop once again.

"So, Bill and Fleur should be home soon," Ron said offhandedly after a moment.

"Where did they go, anyway?" Harry asked.

"Work, of course. You just missed them this morning, actually."

"You needed the sleep," Hermione said graciously. "You both did." She gave Draco a tremulous smile.

Great, so apparently Hermione thought he was some sort of charity case as well. It had been much easier being hated – at least there was dignity to be had in it. And a Malfoy, above all, values their dignity. With that thought in mind, Draco rose to his feet, tugging his hand out of Harry's. Harry's eyes widened behind their glasses. "What's wrong?"

Draco forced himself to smirk. "Nothing, Potter. Unless you consider a trip to the loo as abnormal behavior?"

Without waiting for a reply, Draco sauntered out of the room and made his way to the staircase. Rather than go all the way up, however, he seated himself halfway to the top, out of view of prying eyes. With a groan, he lowered his head against his knees, his throbbing arm clutched to his body.

He was unsurprised when, a moment later he heard footsteps making their way toward him, and knew without looking up whom the ungainly gait belonged to.

Harry sat beside him with a sigh, but said nothing.

"So now you've taken to following me to the bathroom, Potter?" he said into his knees.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright. And what's up with calling me Potter again?"

Draco shrugged. "It's your name, isn't it? I just figured the first-name privilege should only belong to your friends."

Harry made an exasperated sound in his throat. "_You're_ my friend, Draco. You're as important to me as they are. You know that."

"I know that you pity me, something I distinctly told you I didn't want, as I recall. And if that wasn't bad enough, now you've got Granger in on it."

"Is that what you really think?" Harry asked in a tight voice. "That I pity you?"

Looking up, Draco gave a scoffing laugh. "It's written all over your face, Potter. 'Poor Draco', you're thinking, 'he's so fucked up beyond belief that it's pathetic'…"

"Stop!" Harry gripped his shoulder tightly. "Just stop, okay? That's not what I think, and you know it. I respect the hell out of you, and I trust you…but obviously you don't trust me very much…"

Draco looked at him in surprise. "Of course I do."

"Then stop doubting me. Didn't we just go through all this a little while ago?"

A part of Draco wanted to tell Harry everything – all the nagging thoughts and doubts – but feared the revelations such admissions could lead to. So instead, he did the only thing he could think of – he pulled Harry against him – and he kissed him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against Harry's mouth.

"I know," Harry whispered back, then began kissing Draco's neck. Draco closed his eyes, experiencing the contrasting sensations of severe pain radiating from his arm – and the pleasure Harry elicited. One of Harry's hands twined its way through Draco's hair, massaging his scalp lightly, another slid tantalizingly up and down his ribs and chest. All the while Harry's lips continued to kiss and suck gently on Draco's skin, gradually moving lower and lower, settling finally on Draco's collarbone for some time. Draco moaned softly.

"Harry…" he murmured breathily, quite aware of how his body was reacting to the attentions; also aware of how very much in the open they were. Harry hmmed into the hollow of his throat but didn't pull away.

"Harry," Draco tried again, drawing a shuddering breath and gently pushing him back. Harry gazed up at him with darkened eyes, questioning. Draco smiled slightly. If it were up to Harry, they'd likely continue this without moving, even if Voldemort himself showed up to watch.

"What's wrong?" Harry whispered hoarsely, and began to draw away.

"Nothing." Draco caught Harry's hand in his and held tightly. "Maybe… maybe we should continue this somewhere… a little less… public."

Harry looked around, as if realizing for the first time that they were somewhere besides their own private world. He grinned embarrassedly. "Yeah," he agreed.

By unspoken mutual accord, they quickly made their way to the top of the stairs, kissing and touching each other constantly as they went, as if they couldn't bear to separate for even an instant. At this point, Draco wasn't sure they could.

Flushed and panting, they stumbled into the bathroom, slamming the door haphazardly behind them, uncaring at the moment of the noise. Mindful of his injured arm, Draco pressed the length of his body into Harry, pinning him lightly against the wall, and rubbed his groin against Harry's. They both moaned into each other's mouths as their erections ground together, and suddenly their layers of clothing seemed very unnecessary. Harry awkwardly yanked his own shirt over his head, letting it drop beside them, and began pulling insistently on Draco's. Their lips and tongues danced together feverishly, only separating long enough to finish removing their shirts, and then their sweaty, heaving chests were pressing together, a new, delicious friction neither had experienced before.

"Should…um…" Harry gasped out, between kisses, "…silencing charm…"

It took Draco's hazed mind a moment to make sense of the request and, once it did, he cast the charm hastily and returned to the task at hand. So to speak.

Harry's fingers fumbled at Draco's pants, and then he was pushing them down, boxers and all, leaving Draco very naked, and very aroused against Harry's still semi-clothed body. Awkwardly working with one hand while Harry's lips moved down his jaw-line, Draco managed to reciprocate the action with Harry only seconds later.

"Oh, god…" Draco sucked in a breath as Harry thrust his hips forward, his over-heightened senses nearly exploding as their cocks rubbed together. Harry groaned in response, bucking forward again, the heat and friction precariously close to sending them both over the edge. And suddenly, Harry gripping Draco's shoulders, he swung them around and reversed their positions. Draco gasped slightly as the cold wall pressed into his back, but that was quickly forgotten as Harry's hand found his cock and began slowly moving up and down its length.

"Draco," Harry said then, voice heavy with lust, "is it okay if I?..."

Head tilted back, eyes closed and breathing unevenly, Draco just nodded, though he had no idea what Harry was asking, far beyond coherent thought by that point.

The weight of Harry's body vanished for a moment, nearly causing Draco to open his eyes, but then… then dots of white light erupted behind his closed eyelids as something wet and warm encircled him, tentatively at first, then with growing confidence and force. Draco heard a moan, though it more closely resembled a sob, escape his lips. His entire frame shook with tingling sensation as Harry took him in his mouth; he wasn't sure how much longer his legs could hold him up.

"Harry!" Draco wheezed out moments later, knowing his orgasm was very close now. Harry stood abruptly, leaning into Draco and bringing their cocks together once more, furiously pumping them through his fist. It didn't take long. They both came within seconds of each other, sweaty, shuddering, and loudly, Harry's hand not slowing until the sensation became too much for either of them. Afterwards, they sank slowly to the floor, still pressed together.

Harry rested the top of his head on Draco's chest, his slowing breaths tickling against Draco's damp skin.

"Good thing we cast the silencing charm," Harry murmured a few minutes later, not lifting his head.

Draco chuckled and ran his fingers lightly down Harry's back. "We are rather loud, aren't we?"

They sat silently for a little longer until, at last, Harry sat up. Draco shivered at the loss of contact but didn't complain, allowing Harry to pull him to his feet after standing slowly himself.

Though it was completely and utterly irrational, Draco suddenly felt rather self-conscious, standing there naked with Harry in a strange bathroom.

"I'm taking another shower," Draco announced, hoping Harry hadn't seen the blush creeping up his neck. Without waiting for a reply, he maneuvered around Harry and turned on the faucet, relishing in the swift rise of steam throughout the room that immediately obscured his vision, and therefore Harry's as well. Besides, he justified to himself, they probably wouldn't have access to showers for quite a while – might as well enjoy it while he could.

"I'll be downstairs then," Harry answered, rubbing at his steamed-up glasses. "Trying to keep Ron from wondering what we were doing up here." He grinned slightly and Draco was relieved that he didn't seem put-off by the hasty dismissal.

"Can I tell him when I come down?" Draco asked with a smirk, pouting his lip slightly. "Please?"

"Ha, ha," Harry replied, though he was smiling as well.

Draco didn't wait for Harry to leave before getting into the shower and pulling the curtain shut. But when he emerged, ten or fifteen minutes later, Harry – and his clothes – were gone. Draco sighed softly and ran a hand through his towel-dried hair.

More than anything, he wanted to believe this was how things would be from now on. He wanted to pretend the outside world didn't exist, that his parents weren't dead, that he and Harry weren't facing almost imminent death as well. Even if it meant staying cooped up in a house full of overzealous Gryffindors, who weren't as bad as he'd imagined, Draco would gladly forget everything and spend his next few years feeling young again.

The only problem was, Draco really couldn't remember the last time he'd felt young. Not anymore.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: Thanks, as always, to our lovely reviewers! In no particular order – Bad Fairy, Vigilanteer, Muchacha, TeamDrarry, 2boysbetterthan1, Felske, Quiet, RandomPanda, Moyima, Enigmus, Lisi the Slayer, Dumbledude, DanuMarie, and neverenough. Thank you, thank you. **

**And on another note, sorry it took so long to get this chapter up! Both of us are nearing our finals, and as such, we've been rather busy. But it's never an excuse, lol. **

**Chapter Sixteen**

The next few hours passed by rather uneventfully and perhaps even peacefully – although Draco couldn't help but think of it as the calm before the storm. He had said nothing to Ron regarding his…activities with Harry, being satisfied for the moment to smirk with raised eyebrows at the red-headed Gryffindor, who would inevitably turn a bright crimson and look away, much to Draco's delight. It had been Hermione who suggested that the four of them go outside for some fresh air, especially since it wasn't every day they would be able to see the ocean. It was only once he was perched on a slab of rock, elbow to elbow with Harry, shivering slightly from the salty sea-spray, that he recalled her words – and the underlying, unspoken message of mortality. He had sighed then, and lowered his head to Harry's shoulder – uncaring of Ron's barely concealed snort of disgust. The wind had whipped his hair about his face, mingling with Harry's, and Draco had imagined the strands entwining; together, but immediately discernable by the contrasting shades – light and dark.

Now, he and Harry were seated at the kitchen table again, engrossed in a game of wizard's chess. Ron and Hermione had taken off by themselves somewhere – probably to snog – Draco thought with a smirk. Harry, quite typically, seemed oblivious, and as Draco didn't much care to ponder over the mating rituals of Weasleys, decided to let it slide.

"Pay attention, Harry," Draco said with a frown as he captured yet another of Harry's pawns. It appeared to him that Harry played with little or no sense of strategy – content instead to blunder mindlessly across the board.

"I'm trying," Harry said with a frustrated edge to his voice. He grinned sheepishly. "I've never been very good at this, to be honest. Ron's always beaten me."

"Well, if you don't mind some free advice…" Harry shrugged, and Draco continued. "You have to look at the whole picture, Harry. Chess isn't like catching the Snitch; being fast won't help you here. Look at the board – anticipate not only your possible future moves, but mine as well – learn to think like your enemy."

"You're not my enemy," Harry said with a grin.

Draco rolled his eyes. "In chess I am, dummy."

"Prat."

"Wanker."

"Arsehole."

"Fuck face."

"Boys!" Mrs. Weasley's voice snapped them both to attention, and Draco suppressed a grin at her look of consternation. "I should wash your mouths out with soap, since apparently they're too full of filth to speak civilly!"

Draco couldn't help but wonder what Mrs. Weasley would think if she knew exactly what her precious Harry's mouth had been filled with mere hours ago – and nearly laughed out loud at the thought. Instead, he managed to compose himself enough to mutter an apology, his eyes downcast.

"Er…yeah. Sorry," Harry sputtered.

"Well," Mrs. Weasley said with an indulgent smile, "I've heard worse. I raised Fred and George, after all." Giving Harry and Draco a reassuring smile, she began moving about the kitchen, pots and pans flying, cutting boards and knives arranging themselves.

"Umm, so I thought Fleur and Bill would be home by now," Harry said tentatively.

Mrs. Weasley frowned slightly. "Yes, they should be. I guess they got caught up with something – they both work at Gringotts, you know – although Fleur says she's only working to improve her English…but anyway, I'm sure they'll be back before too long." In spite of her words, Mrs. Weasley looked slightly worried as she continued to brandish her wand around the kitchen.

Casting a furtive glance in Mrs. Weasley's direction, Harry gave Draco a meaningful look, indicating toward the door with his eyes. Draco smirked, then nodded.

"We're going to go find Ron and Hermione," Harry told her, rising to his feet. Draco quickly followed suit.

Barely pausing in her ministrations, Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Okay, dear. Tell them dinner will be ready in about an hour."

"Mind telling me what that was all about?" Draco drawled once they were out of earshot. Harry just grinned, closing the distance between them and pushing Draco gently against the wall, kissing him forcefully.

Draco groaned in spite of himself, but reluctantly moved his head to the side. "My, Potter, what an exhibitionist you are." Draco said, his voice breathy despite his attempt to sound casual. "Harry," he said desperately as Harry's lips traced over his collarbone once again.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, looking sheepish. "Couldn't help myself."

"Well, I am known to be irresistible," Draco joked, quite aware of how their bodies were inexorably pressed together. He closed his eyes, willing his breathing to slow, but found instead that he was relishing Harry's close proximity. _Oh, what the hell. _

"You want to go upstairs?" he asked huskily, leaning his forehead against Harry's. Harry nodded immediately.

"I thought you might," Draco said wryly, pulse racing at the prospect.

The sound of someone clearing their throat indicated they were no longer alone, and Harry sprung back immediately from Draco, blushing furiously.

"Honestly, you two," Hermione said, sounding embarrassed. She kept her eyes averted, as both Draco and Harry were obviously aroused. "You realize that anyone can just walk in here, don't you?"

"That's part of the fun," Draco said with a smirk, leaning carelessly against the wall. It was a shame Hermione was alone; baiting Ron would never cease to amuse him. "I guess Harry's…_recklessness_ has been rubbing off on me."

Obviously catching Draco's barely concealed innuendo, much to his surprise, Hermione gave him a simpering grin. "You'll need to remember to do any rubbing in private, just for future reference."

Harry gave a snort of laughter, and Draco couldn't help but grin as well.

"And what exactly have you and Weasley been up to this afternoon?" Draco asked innocently, fixing Hermione with a knowing leer.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "That, Malfoy, is really none of your business," she said haughtily, drawing an incredulous look from Harry. "And, if the both of you are quite…finished, Bill and Fleur just got home. You're lucky I'm the one that found you, instead of Bill or Mr. Weasley."

"Mr. Weasley's here?" Harry asked, an inscrutable expression flitting over his face. Surprisingly, he moved back to Draco's side, shoulders brushing Draco's. Draco recognized the protective gesture all too well, and wondered briefly on it. Hermione followed the movement with her eyes, her brows furrowing slightly.

"Is something wrong, Harry?"

Harry sighed. "Let's just say Mr. Weasley and I disagree about…certain issues, which he made perfectly clear last night."

"You mean about me," Draco said coolly. "It's no great secret how much he hates my family."

"I'm sure he doesn't blame you for anything your father's done," Hermione said weakly.

"Of course he does," Draco scoffed. "You weren't there, Granger, the night the Ministry raided the Manor. You didn't see the way he looked at me, or at my mother…" Draco trailed off, his blood boiling at the memory, at the humiliation and fear he had felt.

Hermione frowned. "He'll just have to get over it then, won't he? Honestly."

Fighting a sudden urge to play devil's advocate, Draco shrugged. "I really don't care."

"Well, I do," Harry said firmly. "I'm just really…disappointed that he could act like that."

Draco shrugged once again. "Whatever. Just…get over it. That will teach you not to have lofty expectations of people – because without fail, you'll eventually see a side of them you don't like." As the words left his mouth, he couldn't help but think of Lupin; if Harry reacted this vehemently to Mr. Weasley's less-than-enamored attitude toward Draco, how would he react in knowing that his beloved professor had resigned himself to Draco's death?

Harry scowled. "So it's better to expect nothing? I don't believe that for a second – and I'm sure you don't either."

Hermione watched the exchange, a slightly exasperated expression settling into her features. "I'm sure there will be plenty of time to continue this discussion later. But as it is, everyone seemed rather anxious to talk to us."

Harry nodded. "Okay," he said with a slight sigh. Looking satisfied, Hermione turned on her heel and began walking out of the room, bushy hair bobbing with each step. Swiveling her head back, she indicated that they follow.

"After you," Draco said with his palm outstretched. Seeing Harry hesitate, Draco dropped his hand, sighing slightly. "Look, Harry, just don't worry about it."

Harry started slightly, as if having forgotten Draco's presence. He smiled reassuringly at Draco, and without another word the two of them began crossing the room, Harry's fingers occasionally tracing feather-light touches against Draco's wrist. Draco wasn't sure if it was meant to reassure Harry or himself, but he certainly wasn't complaining.

Entering the kitchen, Draco could see that a meeting of sorts had already been taking place, as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Fleur, Ron and Hermione were already seated around the kitchen table in an apparently halted conversation. Seeing the boys enter, Mrs. Weasley sprang to her feet and turned her back to them, her wand sending plates and silverware flying around the table.

"Sit down, you two, there's no point letting a good dinner go to waste, now, is there?" She sniffed. "Harry, I've even made your favorite for dessert – treacle tart."

"Er, thanks, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said politely, looking confused.

"Molly," Mr. Weasley said in a tired voice. "Please just sit down. You're going to make yourself sick."

A plate which had been levitating precariously over the table fell with a crack, and Mrs. Weasley drew a shaky breath, her shoulders shuddering, until she turned slowly around, revealing her red, puffy eyes.

"Did something happen?" Harry asked in apparent alarm. "Did something happen to Ginny?"

Draco fought to quell the tiniest smattering of jealousy which had suddenly curled around him like a snake, training his features into an expressionless mask.

"No, Harry," Bill said quickly. "Ginny's fine – everyone's fine."

Harry breathed a visible sigh of relief. "Okay. Okay, good."

"'Ave a seat, 'Arry," Fleur said softly, indicating to an empty seat to her left. Harry nodded, tugging gently on Draco's sleeve for him to follow, and he wordlessly took the seat beside Harry, studiously avoiding the eyes of Mr. Weasley, who watched him with a thoughtful frown.

"So, would anyone mind telling me what's going on?" Harry demanded, his gaze darting over the faces of those assembled.

Bill sighed, the puckered skin on his scarred face tensing slightly. "Harry, Fleur and I were questioned today by Aurors – luckily they don't yet have the authority to use Verisiterum, although I have little doubt it will eventually come to that – and we were both asked if we knew anything regarding your whereabouts, or Draco's whereabouts. Apparently the fact you both escaped has come into light – and since you left with Ron, we're the obvious people to ask. Dad was questioned too," he said, jabbing a thumb in Mr. Weasley's direction.

Mr. Weasley nodded gravely. "We told them no, of course, but as I'm sure you're well aware, the Ministry is out of control. It's only a matter of time before they come sniffing around here."

"But what have I done?" Harry asked desperately.

"Harry, as far as the Ministry is concerned, you were present at several Death Eater attacks, and you participated. Anyone with sense, of course, would take into account that Polyjuice must have been used, but as usual, the words, 'Ministry' and 'sense' are two words not often used in the same sentence," Hermione said, frowning.

"And you're with me," Draco said softly, meeting Mr. Weasley's eyes challengingly. "The would-be murderer of the great Albus Dumbledore."

Mr. Weasley flinched slightly, tearing his eyes away, and Draco felt a brief surge of victory.

"Stop it," Harry said sharply, fixing his burning green eyes on Draco. "None of that matters."

"Unfortunately, it does, Harry," Bill said quietly, looking at Draco with wary respect. "Maybe not to you, but in the Ministry's eyes, you've thrown in lots with a wanted Death Eater."

Harry gave a bitter laugh. "I thought Death Eaters were running the Ministry, what with Snape being appointed headmaster at Hogwarts…"

"Of course they are," Draco cut in. "The ones at the top, at least. But under the guise of law and order, to prevent public uproar and all, the Ministry is still required to round up known Death Eaters – or in their case, anyone they wish to get rid of. That way, the ones at the bottom doing the dirty work can sleep well at night knowing they helped rid the world of evil, and the ones at top can have a great laugh at how stupid the ones at the bottom are, falling for the same old propaganda." He shrugged, seeing the incredulous looks his speech had drawn. "That's how politics work, isn't it?"

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat slightly. "That's a very grim way to view the world."

"It's true, though," Hermione said softly. "Especially in this case."

"So what are we going to do?" Ron asked, speaking for the first time. "We can't stay here, obviously."

Mrs. Weasley sniffed, tears shining in her eyes. Turning to her husband, she said, "there must be something else we can do, Arthur. They're just children."

"Maybe zey could stay at my parents' 'ouse in France," Fleur said helpfully. Bill smiled at her, squeezing her hand under the table.

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "It's very kind of you to offer, Fleur, but given your connection with our family, it seems they would likely think to search there."

"Well, then it's settled," Harry said firmly. "We've got to leave. The sooner the better."

And with that said, Mrs. Weasley promptly burst into tears.

"Calm down, Mum," Ron muttered helplessly, his eyes wide. "We'll be fine."

Mrs. Weasley only sobbed harder and buried her head in Ron's shoulder. He rubbed her back awkwardly and glanced around at the others for support.

As he was the only non-family member there, Draco felt little inclination to speak. Instead, he pursed his lips slightly and hoped the elder Weasley wouldn't blame him for this as well.

"The truth is," Harry spoke up, after the sobbing had diminished to a much softer level, "we were going to leave anyway. We have to – … I guess it's good. That there's something to hurry us along. Because you know I would never willingly give up your cooking, Mrs. Weasley."

She sniffled at Ron and Hermione's murmured agreements.

"I wish you would let us help, you three," Mr. Weasley said softly, looking imploringly at the trio and, specifically, not Draco. "I know there's something you're doing – something Dumbledore wanted you to do – but, surely, with him being gone and after all that's happened… you could let the Order assist you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco snapped, bristling slightly from being ignored. It was satisfying to see every eye turn to him instantly, some questioning, others annoyed.

He continued, scowling at Mr. Weasley. "You think the Order could keep a secret if they tried? Exactly how many pieces of important information, and I mean the difference being winning and losing kind-of-important, have the Order been privy to? Obviously Dumbledore didn't think they were any good, so it'd be pretty stupid of Harry to go trusting them now."

"Draco – " Harry said warningly, under his breath.

"You have no right to talk about Dumbledore or the Order!" Mr. Weasley growled, reddening with anger. "And you have no idea what you're talking about."

Draco snorted. "Oh, really? Well, _Arthur_, as you may realize, I am Lucius Malfoy's son and a Death Eater, so I'm not exactly ignorant when it comes to the ways of the world." Hermione and Mrs. Weasley both paled visibly at his words, but Draco didn't stop. "Do you know what the Dark Lord does to his prisoners? Because, trust me, Harry and I can tell you all about it."

Harry grabbed his arm suddenly, face pinched with a mixture of hurt and frustration. "Stop!" he hissed. "That's enough!"

Not bothering to shove him off, Draco leaned forward, compelled to continue by the suddenly pained expression on Mr. Weasley's mottled features. "Did you know he's probably the most powerful Legilimens in existence? Do you want to know what it's like having _him_ force his way inside your mind? Some people go insane in the end, probably from resisting. The ones that don't, well, they don't keep their secrets to themselves." Draco paused, taking a breath and glancing around the table. Downcast eyes and stunned expressions greeted him – all except Harry. Harry was staring at him, looking as though he were physically in pain.

"Please, Draco," Harry whispered, grip tightening on his arm.

Draco scowled. "You don't have to be so altruistic all the time, Harry," he bit out. "Suffering in silence… Why don't you tell them what Voldemort did to you? Then maybe they'll understand."

"I don't want them to know!" Harry all but shouted. After breathing harshly for a moment, he lowered his voice and looked imploringly at the adults in the room. "I'm sorry, alright? I know you don't understand why I – we – are doing this. But Draco's right. It's too dangerous letting anyone else know… even you. You just have to trust that Dumbledore knew what he was doing. And please don't ask me again."

"Okay, Harry," Mr. Weasley answered quietly, without looking up.

Draco huffed slightly. Gryffindors. Good lord, their faith in each other was almost palpable. Draco wanted them to know. Harry had told Ron and Hermione of course, with no detail spared, but these were the people who fancied themselves in charge. And Draco wanted to tell them just how close their precious 'Chosen One' had come to insanity and death, again and again, and yet here he was, sitting calmly at a kitchen table, worried about how knowing would make _them_ feel. Fuck how they felt.

"So you won't be trailing us haphazardly around the country then?" Draco asked, shaking out of Harry's grasp and sitting back in his chair.

"No," Bill answered before his father could reply. "We won't."

"Oh," Draco said stupidly, a bit taken aback. He lowered his eyes, feeling his face flush with color at Bill's straight-forward answer. For once, he had nothing to say. When Harry's hand crept back into his under the table, he released a faintly relieved breath.

"Alright then, boys," Mrs. Weasley said in forced cheerfulness after several awkward seconds of silence, despite the eight people present. "Ron Flooed me earlier and said you'd need some Muggle medicines." She stood and began rummaging furiously through a large sack on the counter. "Lord knows what for, but I suppose anything can come in handy!"

And then she dumped a monstrous amount of the strangest looking products Draco had ever seen all over the table, barely missing their dinner plates. Draco saw Harry and Hermione exchange amused glances while the rest of them gazed at the vast variety of bottles, tubes, and boxes with equally befuddled expressions. Mr. Weasley however, Draco realized after a second look, looked rather like he was in the midst of his wildest and most seductive dream.

"Preparation H!" he exclaimed excitedly, grabbing up the nearest tube. "I wonder what that does?"

* * *

Approximately two hours later, Draco and the trio had packed their belongings – which were rapidly increasing due to Mrs. Weasley, who had supplied them with a number of Fred and George's old clothes, including several of the infamous Weasley sweaters, in addition to food, toiletries, and a ragged looking tent, which Draco eyed disdainfully when no one else was looking.

"Where are we going?" he asked Harry quietly while Hermione busied herself and Ron with making an inventory of, and subsequently shrinking, their supplies.

"Dunno," Harry said with a shrug. "Hermione had some place in mind, I guess. She said that she and Ron stayed there undetected while I was at the Manor."

"You realize that everyone is going to be looking for us – Death Eaters and Ministry alike, don't you?"

"I know," Harry said quietly, chewing on his lower lip. He looked at Draco thoughtfully. "Worried?"

"Me, worry?" Draco scoffed chidingly. "Never."

"It'll be okay," Harry said with a reassuring smile. "You couldn't have picked a better group to enter a life-threatening situation with, you know."

Draco groaned. "Well, when you put it that way…"

Harry just grinned at him, moving to help Hermione with their supplies.

"You know," Draco said casually, shrinking a bag of food before handing it off to Hermione, who nodded absently. "You almost seem excited about this little camping trip of ours."

Harry shrugged. "I guess I am, a little. I mean, the Dursleys were never ones for camping – or doing much besides sitting in front of the telly – but even if they had been, they definitely wouldn't have taken me with them."

Draco frowned. "Why not?"

Harry shrugged again, looking for the moment as if he'd rather talk about anything but. "They hated me," he said uncomfortably. "They still do, I expect…although Dudley might be okay after all."

"But…they were your family, weren't they?"

Harry shook his head. "Not really. The Weasleys, Hermione, Sirius…Dumbledore…" a pained look flashed briefly across his face. "They've been my family."

"Oh," Draco said, regretting Harry's forlorn expression. He marveled suddenly on how things had changed – not so long ago, such information would have been wielded, weapon like, against Harry without regret. "Sorry…I shouldn't have brought it up."

Smiling, Harry reached for Draco's hand and gave it a quick squeeze before letting it drop. "Don't worry about it. It's not your fault the Dursleys were bastards."

"Done!" Hermione said finally, her voice ringing with triumph. "Everything is accounted for…I tied them all to my magical signature with an extension charm, so that way even if we have to Apparate suddenly, all our supplies will follow. And be arranged neatly, of course."

"She's mental, she is," Ron said fondly, grinning proudly at Hermione. "But absolutely brilliant."

Hermione shrugged, but seemed uncharacteristically flattered by Ron's attention. "Well, I know better than to leave these things up to you and Harry, Ron."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "I was just planning to lug all those bags around with us by hand – but I like your idea better, Hermione."

Draco rolled his eyes. "That sounds about right for you, Potter."

"So, are you and Ron going to Side-Along me and Draco?" Harry asked Hermione. "Because we have no idea where you're going."

"Hmm," Hermione said contemplatively. "I guess we'll have to. I'll take Draco, though, so he and Ron don't murder each other."

"Hey!" Ron said with mock offense. "Ferret and I have been getting along splendidly all afternoon. Why come between our beautiful friendship?"

"I guess we'll have to make due, Weasel," Draco said wryly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Shall we, then?"

"Wait a second," Ron said. "Maybe we should double-check, make sure we aren't forgetting anything."

Hermione beamed at him. "You're learning, Ron."

Ron shrugged. "I try."

"Well, we have all of our things – I know because I triple checked. Harry, you sent Kreacher back to Grimmauld Place, didn't you? Okay, good…we already said goodbye to everybody…I can't think of anything else."

"I have something," Draco said softly. Looking at his shoes, he said, "umm, Harry, you said there was a way to get a message…maybe…to my parents. If they're alive, that is…" he trailed off.

"I thought maybe we could get a message to Lupin," Harry explained to Hermione. "But of course, I thought we'd be here for awhile."

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment, then gave Draco a reassuring smile. "I'll try and figure something out, Draco. I promise."

"Thanks," he mumbled, not looking at Harry as he felt Harry's arm wrap around him from the side.

"Are we ready, then?" Hermione asked them.

"Yeah," Draco uttered, in unison with Harry. Draco smirked, untangling himself from Harry's grasp to stand next to Hermione. Giving Ron a wink, he threw an arm haphazardly around her shoulders.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ready, Ron?"

Ron nodded, gripping Harry's arm. Remembering the Apparition lessons in sixth year, Draco sincerely hoped that Ron had managed to improve. As amusing as Ron's failed attempts had been back then, he much preferred Harry in his entirety. And it would be inconvenient to be forced to murder Ron.

As always, the tug of Side-Along Apparition was disconcerting and somewhat sickening. After the initial violent jerk, the world around him began to rearrange itself, revealing a heavily wooded forest, in which he and Hermione were standing in a large clearing, their many possessions neatly strewn around them.

"Alright?" Hermione breathed.

Draco nodded absently, looking around for Harry and Ron. "Where the fuck are they?"

Hermione's brow furrowed slightly, appearing slightly worried. "I don't know."

Draco stared at her incredulously. "What the hell were you thinking, Granger? You know Weasley barely scraped by at Hogwarts, I can't believe you thought he'd be able to handle Side-Along Apparition…"

The sound of shoes trampling through the underbrush directed Draco's attention outside of the clearing, and he was barely able to suppress a sigh of relief upon spotting Harry, followed by a sheepish looking Ron.

"Sorry," Ron mumbled bashfully. "I guess I didn't concentrate enough on this clearing…but I got the general area, didn't I?"

Draco gave a sharp laugh, but remembering his deal from earlier, declined from making the biting remarks that were on the tip of his tongue. But deal or no deal, if Ron's stupidity had gotten Harry spilched or worse, all bets would have been off.

"So, I guess this is home for the time being?" Harry asked, apparently still excited by the prospect of camping. And, though Draco would never admit in front of Ron and Hermione, he found the idea rather exciting as well. All threats of impending doom aside.

Hermione nodded, bending to begin unpacking their supplies. Ron moved to help her, making idle chatter all the while.

"This is where Hermione and I stayed before – I kind of like it, really. There's a stream that way," he pointed at some indeterminate location through the trees. "If you want to take a bath or anything. But there really isn't much point out here."

"Charming," Draco said coolly.

Ron grinned. "And the loo is – I guess it's wherever you want it to be…"

"Not anywhere near the tent," Hermione said sharply. "That's disgusting, Ronald."

"Quite," Draco said in agreement, yet was unable to suppress a grin nevertheless.

Stealing a glance at Harry, Draco wasn't surprised to find him grinning as well, looking very much at ease. A leaf had managed to cling to his hair, and Draco picked it out idly.

"Thanks," Harry murmured, managing to catch Draco's wrist briefly. The simple touch, coupled with Harry's meaningful look, ignited memories of their steamy encounter from earlier in the day, and Draco could have groaned in frustration that such exchanges would likely be impossible for the time being.

Wrenching his gaze from Draco, Harry asked, "do you need help, Hermione?"

Currently brandishing her wand at the various items in the campsite, Hermione shook her head. "In the time it would take me to explain how to set everything up, I could be finished."

Ron shook his head in bemusement. "We'll get the food ready, then."

"We just ate, Ron!" Hermione said in exasperation.

"Hours ago!"

Hermione gave an indignant sniff, tucking an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture apparently caused it to frizz out even more, and she violently tugged her entire mass of hair into a hair clip.

"If you want to exhaust our supplies that quickly, then go ahead."

Ron rolled his eyes. "It's not like we can't just get more food, Hermione. My mum knows how to make food appear from thin air! Surely you of all people know how to do that…"

Hermione made an impatient humph sound in her throat, using her wand to erect the tent, then turned to Ron. "Just so you know Ron, making food appear out of thin air is impossible! If you paid any attention at all, you'd know that food is the first of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration!"

"Whatever," Ron muttered. "It doesn't change the fact that I'm hungry."

"Then eat!" Hermione said shrilly, stomping into the newly raised tent with a huff.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. He gave Harry and Draco a shrug, then followed Hermione into the tent.

Draco, having watched the entire exchange with some degree of bewilderment, nudged Harry with his elbow. "Are they always like that?"

"Pretty much," Harry said wryly.

"Hmm," Draco raised an eyebrow. "Maybe she's really a long-lost Weasley relation. That would explain the temper."

Harry rolled his eyes as he sat down on his knees and began rummaging through one of their packs. "Shine your wand down here, would you?" he asked, squinting through the near-darkness. Draco complied and continued talking.

"Then again, she probably wouldn't be so good at magic if she were a Weasley. Unless Ron's just an anomaly. Weasley's don't intermarry do they?"

"Draco!"

"I'm not picking fights with _him_, am I?" Draco replied with a smirk. "And besides," he added in a petulant voice, "you can't expect me to change years and years of habit in one day. I have to get it out somehow – or I might explode."

Pausing in his search, Harry glanced up with a wide grin on his face. "No, I suppose not. And you do enough exploding on your own…"

After Draco's brain had wrapped itself around the fact that Harry had just made a very dirty joke, he smiled and smacked him lightly on the shoulder.

"Tsk, Potter. That kind of talk will get you in trouble with certain people."

Harry snorted. "Who? Ron or Hermione? I don't think either of them are as innocent as you think."

"I really don't want to hear about what goes on in the Gryffindor common rooms, Harry," Draco moaned, looking pained. "And if you're about to tell me that you ever watched – "

Even in the grey moonlight, Harry's face suddenly grew unearthly pale and his hands stilled. "_It's him_," he gasped, features twisting into a pained grimace. Without another word, his eyes rolled far back in his skull and Harry collapsed limply to the ground.

"Harry!" Draco yelled, dropping to his knees in alarm and grabbing hold of Harry's slack shoulders. His heart pounded painfully hard in his chest as Draco waited for a sign of life from his fallen companion and, upon the first sporadic expansion and detraction of Harry's thin chest, Draco released his own shuddering breath.

"Granger! Weasley!" he bellowed, unable to tear his terrified gaze from Harry.

Seconds later, they were both there, saying something about Voldemort, about Harry's scar, but Draco was barely listening. His mind was awhirl with horror. Even here, far removed from Voldemort's clutches, Harry was still being hurt by him. Draco had heard the rumors about Harry's scar – particularly during their fifth year – about how he occasionally had fits that left him convulsing and frothing on the floor, and of course, spewing up stories about You-Know-Who afterwards. But Draco, at the time, had been so delighted by the idea of another humiliating story to spread around school, that he'd paid little to no attention as to whether the rumors were actually true. And then, in sixth year, more pressing matters had consumed Draco's mind and Harry's dramatic feats for attention were far from his notice. But now, as he vaguely listened to Hermione and Ron's worried musings, Draco supposed it must have all been true.

The three of them carefully moved Harry's prone form inside the tent and onto one of the floor-beds, each of them settling near him, Hermione and Draco gripping his hands on either side.

"How long does it normally last?" Draco asked, his voice flat as he stared at Harry's face. It was shiny with sweat and his eyes had begun to twitch fitfully beneath their lids.

Ron shook his head slowly. "The only time it ever happened before was during the night, when we were already asleep. So we never knew how long it went on before he woke up…"

"Voldemort's powers must be extending," Hermione said softly. She set her mouth in a grim line. "If he could only reach Harry before when he was asleep… when his mind was completely vulnerable…"

Draco closed his eyes briefly. "It's because he's been inside Harry's mind since then. And not just through a dream." He opened his eyes and witnessed his words sinking home by the pained looks on Ron and Hermione's faces. He continued quietly, returning his eyes to Harry. "When someone has successfully penetrated your mind once, they know all your defenses, how to get around them, so doing it becomes easier and easier after that. Voldemort probably could've done it a few years ago… when Harry was awake, I mean… but he was still hiding back, then. I guess he didn't want to be that obvious."

"He likes to play games." Both Draco and Hermione looked up at Ron, who had been strangely silent since finding Harry's motionless form on the ground outside. Mostly, when the hot-tempered redhead was silent, Draco assumed it was because he had nothing to say, intelligent or otherwise. So hearing such a profound observation from him, one Draco had once made himself, was rather surprising. By the look on Hermione's face, she was feeling rather the same.

"I mean, he's a pretty nasty bastard, isn't he?" Ron went on, clenching his hands at his sides. "Kept showing Harry all this stuff before, some of it true, some of it not. And it was always for a purpose though… because he was trying to manipulate Harry into doing something."

"And it worked," Hermione added quietly.

Although he strongly suspected this had something to do with the events leading up to his father's imprisonment, Draco merely nodded.

Abruptly, Harry's previously innate state gave way to wild thrashing and incoherent words tearing loudly from his throat. It didn't take much to hold him, though Ron ended up practically laying across his legs in the end. But then, just as suddenly, it was over.

"NO!" Harry shouted, his eyes flying open. For several seconds, he panted harshly and stared half-seeing at Draco. Very slowly, Harry's vision seemed to slide back into focus and he drew in a shaky breath.

"I'm alright," he murmured, glancing to Ron and Hermione's worried faces before ending back on Draco's. Draco felt oddly close to tears and he tore his eyes away.

"What the hell was that all about?" Draco sneered, sitting back slightly and scowling.

Harry propped himself on his elbows, once Ron had removed himself from his legs, and shook his head slowly.

"Just more of Voldemort's bullshit," he said, swiping a hand across his forehead tiredly.

"Harry," Hermione insisted gently, "you should tell us. I mean, last time this happened…"

"I know what happened last time," Harry snapped. He sighed and softened his voice. "I know, Hermione. Last time I did exactly what he wanted me to do. But it wasn't like that this time, alright? It was just… he just wanted to show me things to scare me. Things I know aren't true…"

Draco watched Harry's gaze slide back to him and he deliberately averted his eyes once more. He was suddenly quite certain he knew what Voldemort had tormented Harry with.

Hermione bit her lip. "Well, if you're sure, Harry. But if you told us, we might be able to help…"

"Are you deaf, Granger?" Draco snapped. "He said no."

"Don't talk to her like that!" Ron said angrily, his face flushing instantly.

"Draco," Harry said quietly, a mixture of exasperation and gratitude in his voice. "It's okay."

"Yeah. Because obviously, collapsing on the ground at a moment's notice is completely normal." Brushing off Harry's attempt to pull him closer by the sleeve, Draco scooted out of his reach.

Clearly uncomfortable, Hermione cleared her throat. "Umm, you know we're here if you need us, Harry. Just – and don't take this the wrong way – but if Voldemort…oh, get over it, Ron! If Voldemort is going to be messing about in your head like this, don't you think it would be a good idea to employ some of your Occlumency training?"

Harry scowled deeply. "In case you've forgotten, Hermione, I never learned how to do Occlumency."

"Well," Hermione said tentatively. "You even said yourself that you weren't really trying, at the time…"

"What, do you think having Snape rummaging around in my head was fun? Maybe if Snape wasn't an evil, greasy git and had actually tried to teach me…"

"Snape taught you Occlumency?" Draco asked, forgetting for the moment how entirely shaken he had been mere moments before.

Harry gave a sardonic laugh, his eyes darkening. "Except, he didn't. He never even explained what I was supposed to do – he just pointed his wand at me and told me to block my mind."

Feeling as if something had just clicked into place, Draco said with a smirk, "Remedial Potions, right?"

Much to his relief, Harry grinned slightly. "I can't believe you remember that."

"You can't? I filed away anything that I might have used to humiliate you in the future, Potter. You should know that."

"Remedial Potions?" Hermione asked with a bemused expression in Harry's direction.

Harry shrugged. "I guess it wasn't too much of a stretch."

"Anyway," Draco said, "what is it about Occlumency that you didn't get, exactly?

"How much time do you have?" Harry said bitterly, picking at a fingernail. "All Snape would ever tell me was to clear my mind before going to bed – that's it."

"And did you?" Draco asked, noticing Hermione regarding Harry curiously as well. Ron, on the other hand, looked quietly apprehensive. Clearly, Harry's failed Occlumency lessons were a sore subject for him.

Harry scowled. "I mean, I already had my doubts about Snape – so I kind of thought for awhile that he might have been opening my mind even more for Voldemort."

"So basically, you let your personal feelings for Snape get in the way of learning something which, by your own admission, would be very useful to know at the moment?"

"Get off him about it, why don't you?" Ron interjected. "It's all over and done with, and he obviously doesn't like talking about it…"

Draco ignored him, but was unable to resist rolling his eyes slightly.

"Don't you know Occlumency, Draco?" Hermione asked, surprisingly.

"Y-ess…" Draco said slowly, slightly baffled as to how Hermione knew that particular piece of information. "My aunt taught me, summer after fifth year. Not that it's a match against Voldemort, or anyone who really knows what they're doing, for that matter."

"You held Snape off," Harry said quietly. "That's something, believe me."

Draco frowned. "How'd you know about that?"

"Er…"

Draco smirked. "Never mind. That must have been around the same time you set those house elves to following me…"

"So, can you teach him, then?" Ron cut in. When all eyes turned in his direction, he shrugged. "That's where this is going, right?"

"You don't have to," Harry said quickly. "I mean, it might be a waste of time, seeing as how awful I am at it, and we really should be concentrating on finding the Horcruxes…"

"Well, it won't matter if we find the Horcruxes or not, if Voldemort can have a go in your head and make you believe whatever he wants," Hermione said bluntly. "And what if he sees that you know about the Horcruxes, and it prompts him to hide them again – or worse, make more?"

"I'll teach you," Draco said quietly, fixing his eyes with Harry's. "If you want me to."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

**Author's Note: First and foremost, thanks to the wonderful reviewers! GIrisi, serdel, Mempho, Sarah (you were #100, btw), Bad fairy, BigHairyVaGina (umm…great name, lol), Quiet, Nibble-Ett, sirly, Luna-Lunak, Dumbledude, Enigmus, and DanuMarie! Thank you guys so much, and again, sorry it took so long to post!**

Harry had hated his Occlumency lessons with Snape – nearly as much as he hated Snape – and the idea of allowing anyone, even someone he trusted, into his head was still disconcerting at best. So his relief was palpable when Draco informed him that he would absolutely not be performing Legilimency on Harry – at least not that night.

"Relax, Harry," Draco said, settling cross-legged across from Harry. Hermione had managed to divide the tent exactly in half with a sound proof barrier and a door on either side, which she had explained was for Harry to learn Occlumency with minimal distraction. Of course, as she had blushed ever-so-slightly while explaining it, Harry had known the real reason for the barrier.

"I am," Harry insisted, digging his fingers into the blanket he was sitting on. At least their beds were comfortable, he mused; Hermione had cast a cushioning charm over the entire floor, along with the usual Muggle-repelling charms around the tent.

"No, you're not. You're thinking about your lessons with Snape – I don't even need to use Legilimency on you to know that – and that's part of the problem."

"What, that you know me that well?"

"That you're too easy to read," Draco corrected, leaning forward slightly, pale hair falling over his eyes. He pushed it away carelessly, looking thoughtful. "When you wear your every emotion on your face the way you do, a really good Legilimens will know exactly the types of memories to drudge up. You're making it too easy."

"Didn't realize I was that shallow," Harry said offhandedly, slightly annoyed by the description.

"You're not," Draco said quickly; too quickly. He blushed slightly, shaking his head. "It's not a matter of being shallow or feeling less – it's a matter of controlling what you show."

"But how will that help me with Occlumency?" Harry asked, frustration already taking root. "I mean, he can't even see me right now."

"Harry," Draco said, looking slightly annoyed himself. "I'm trying to help you here."

Harry sighed, feeling a stab of regret. "I know. It's not about you…it's just, this is bringing up all sorts of memories…"

Without another word, Draco leaned forward, cupped Harry's face, and kissed him deeply. Harry groaned, placing a hand at the back of Draco's head to pull him closer, but abruptly, Draco pulled away.

Draco smirked slightly at Harry's befuddled expression, though he was undoubtedly breathing more harshly than before.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not Snape."

"Thanks for the reminder," Harry said with an equal smirk.

Draco rolled his eyes, sitting so that his and Harry's knees were touching. "Okay then. Now that _that's_ established…as I was starting to explain, Occlumency is about more than just trying to force someone out of your mind. It's about control and learning to…compartmentalize your emotions. Easier said than done, I know, which is why I plan to take this one step at a time."

"We don't have a whole lot of time…"

"Don't think about that right now. Do you see what I mean? Just…think about right this second, okay? It's not that the other things go away, but you put a sort of block over them, temporarily. That's the first step."

Was that what Snape had meant, when he'd told Harry to clear his mind? Harry nodded. "That makes sense, when you put it that way."

"Good," Draco said, looking both relieved and satisfied. "Before you, umm, go to sleep later, try it out for me, okay?"

"Okay." When he went to sleep later, Harry knew, it would be there, with Draco…remembering what Draco had said about blocking things, Harry gave himself a mental shake and forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. If Draco noticed Harry's slight lapse in concentration, he pretended otherwise.

"The mind," Draco continued, "is enormously complex. It's not possible to actually 'read' a mind as if you were reading a book – our thoughts aren't just etched into our skulls…"

"Snape said something like that," Harry said quietly.

"Oh."

Harry nudged him. "It's okay. It was just an observation."

Draco shrugged. "Well, anyway, that's pretty much all I have for right now. You know, this would be much easier if I had a Pensieve so I could properly explain how memory works…But for right now, just…try to clear your mind out later, okay?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, feeling rather doubtful. "Clear my mind. Right."

Draco made it sound so easy. And for him, Harry supposed, it probably was. Draco hid all the time, even from those he trusted, especially from those he didn't. Harry knew this because, until very recently, he had fallen severely into the latter category.

"See?"

Harry glanced up. "See what?"

"I can tell exactly what you're thinking about right now," Draco replied with a smirk. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Can you?" he replied, then swatted at Draco's arm playfully. "Well, stop it, you git. It's not even time for me to start 'clearing my mind' yet."

"Harry," Draco said, suddenly stern. His hand, resting on Harry's knee, tightened. "You are going to take this seriously aren't you?"

"Of course I am!" Harry bristled. Draco, never the wilting flower, scowled slightly in return and drew his hand back.

"It's not like you've been the model student all these years, Harry," he snapped. "I'm just saying, don't fuck around with this."

"I'm not fucking around with anything!" Harry insisted, his scowl matching Draco's now. "I'm the one who gets their head plowed through at a moment's notice, aren't I? I know how serious this is."

"Well, good!" Draco pulled his legs up to his chest and crossed his arms tightly around them. "Because this will be a fucking waste of my time if you're still collapsing all over the place all the time when we're done."

"I don't collapse _all over the place_…" Harry muttered, staring dejectedly at his feet. In some logical, Hermione-ridden corner of Harry's mind, he knew Draco was pushing him out of concern, not out of hatred as Snape had done, but right now he was feeling tired, irritable, and simply not in the mood to fight with anyone. Especially Draco.

"I'm going to bed," Harry announced a few minutes later, somewhat after the fact as Draco had already crawled underneath his blankets and curled into a tight ball.

"Congratulations," grunted Draco as he shifted onto his other side, blankets and sheets now impossibly twisted around his body.

With a sigh, Harry settled into his own bed, wondered for a few minutes how much warmer it would be if they had transfigured their single beds into one large one, and soon felt himself slipping easily into the realms of sleep.

"Harry?"

Harry jerked awake. "Yeah?" he mumbled.

"Are you doing it?" Draco's voice sounded muffled. Harry figured he was still facing away.

"Can I focus on one thing?" Harry asked, blinking into the darkness. "You know… instead of clearing everything out of my mind? I don't know how…"

Draco sighed softly.

A little while later, he whispered, "what are you focusing on?"

When Harry didn't answer, he sighed again. It wasn't long before Draco's breaths became deep and even, clearly indicating his own journey into unconsciousness.

Harry lay awake for some time after that. He stared at the dim outline of his companion's sleeping form, chest rising and falling nearly imperceptibly with each breath, and he wished for the thousandth time that they didn't have to face any more of this war.

If only the most important decision they had to make was what time to get up in the morning.

If only, with every step they took, the horrifying flashes Voldemort had paraded through Harry's head earlier didn't have more and more chance of becoming reality…

Morning, Harry pondered several hours later, probably would have been delayed much longer if not for Hermione's insistent wake-up call upon the first trace of daylight. Harry had groggily unraveled himself from his bed and stared into the still semi-darkness for several minutes –all the while Hermione had rummaged around the tent, switching between berating the tent for misplacing her notes, and Harry for always wanting to sleep so late – before reluctantly joining Ron and Draco outside. With a slight hmph, Harry sat down and immediately accepted a steaming cup of tea from Ron.

"Morning," Ron grunted, not looking entirely chipper himself.

"Is it?" Harry joked in return. Ron grunted once more.

Draco, Harry noticed, was drinking coffee again. He was also grimacing slightly after each sip.

"Since when do you drink coffee, anyway?" Harry asked.

Draco glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you know all my beverage preferences?"

"Oh," Harry said mildly, looking back down at his feet. Maybe it was just early-morning irritability, but for some reason he felt rather annoyed that he had never noticed what Draco liked to drink before. "Well, it doesn't look like you're enjoying it very much," he finished lamely.

"Mm," Draco took a sip, "because I'm not."

To Harry's surprise, Ron turned slightly red. "It's not like I'd ever made it before!" he said insistently.

Draco chuckled. "It's not like you've ever made any edible product before, Weasley. Or non-edible, for that matter."

"Oh, and I suppose you have?" Ron had raised his voice enough that Harry noticed Hermione poking her head out of the tent. Ron continued. "Do you have a special day of the week at home when all the house-elves take the day off? I suppose _you_ cook for Mummy and Daddy on those days, right?"

"Ron – " Harry warned.

"Of course not, Weasley," Draco cut in, peering at Ron coolly. "If we gave the house-elves a day off, we'd have to hire wizards like you to come do the housework."

"Why, you – " Ron snarled and looked ready to lunge forward when Hermione appeared in front of him, a menacing expression on her face and her wand pointing back and forth between the two of them.

"That's enough, you two!" she snapped, pursing her mouth angrily. "Ron, quit being such an insensitive idiot, and Draco, quit being such a… a bastard!"

If either Ron or Draco were going to respond at first, Hermione's out-of-character foul language and wildly waved wand shut them both up.

So Harry was less than thrilled when she turned towards him.

"What did I do?" he said helplessly. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Draco smirking into his mug.

"You could try to keep them civilized, Harry," she said. Her hair bobbed crazily as she whirled her head around to all of them. "I'm trying to do something important in there, and you lot can't get along for five minutes!"

"Well, I'll come help you, then," Draco announced suddenly, swiftly rising to his feet.

Ron's mouth opened, but then shut abruptly upon Hermione's glare.

"Thank you, Draco," she said graciously, glaring once more at Ron when he tried to say something again. Harry thought he looked rather like a fish gasping for air. Once Draco and Hermione had disappeared into the tent, Ron turned to face Harry, an incredulous expression on his face.

"Did that really just happen?"

"Yep," Harry informed him cheerfully, sipping his tea.

Ron continued to stare at the closed flap of the tent as the minutes went by, looking increasingly worried.

"You don't think…I mean, no offense or anything, but…you don't think maybe he's just playing at the whole liking blokes thing…"

Harry snorted, nearly choking on his chocolate biscuit. "Are you seriously worried about Draco making moves on Hermione?" When Ron nodded sullenly, Harry patted him on the shoulder, an ill-suppressed smirk twisting his lips. "Believe me, Ron, you have nothing to worry about."

His expression sobering, he decided it was as good a time as any to broach the subject he'd been wondering about for the past two days.

"Are you and Hermione…you know…together?"

Ron blushed fiercely, looking down at the ground. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

Ron dug into the ground with the toe of his shoe, studiously avoiding Harry's eyes. "Well, I guess you know I've…liked her…really liked her…for years, I guess…"

Harry nodded, this wasn't news to him.

"And," Ron continued, "I reckon she likes me…a little, anyway…"

Harry rolled his eyes. "She more than likes you, Ron. That was pretty obvious last year, what with you snogging Lavender Brown all over the place – it drove Hermione crazy, you know."

"Yeah, well," he cleared his throat nervously. "When you were gone, and it was just Hermione and me, some things kind of…clicked, I guess you'd say. But we're not…I mean, we aren't _together_, really. A couple, that is. Not like you and Draco, anyway."

"We aren't a couple," Harry said quickly. What were they anyway? The term, 'couple,' or even, 'boyfriends' seemed much too cut-and-dry – too cliché and typical. And, 'lovers' or, 'friends with benefits' weren't right, either. What word existed to describe someone who would knowingly die for you, and vice versa? Someone who likely understood you better than anyone else in the world, and whom you understood in turn?

There was only one word to describe it, Harry thought dully. Love. Harry was in love. Hoping his sudden revelation wasn't too apparent on his face, he gave Ron a small smile.

"What is a couple, anyway? I mean, a couple of what? A couple of freaks, maybe." Grinning wryly, he added, "I'm talking about me and Draco, not you and Hermione, by the way. Because Hermione isn't a freak."

Ron grinned wickedly. "That's what you think."

"Ugh," Harry said with a groan, but chortled slightly nonetheless. "I'm eating, Ron."

"I'll spare you the gory details, then."

"Please do."

They continued to munch in companionable silence, Harry taking the time to study their surroundings, as it had been rather dark the previous night. The campsite was, as he had expected, surrounded thickly by trees. It made him feel simultaneously protected and terribly vulnerable.

"You reckon we should go in there?" Ron asked, jabbing his thumb towards the tent. "Maybe they need our help or something."

"I doubt it," Harry said honestly. "But we might as well."

Abandoning his tepid cup of tea, Harry followed Ron back to the tent and through the opened flap. Hermione, sitting cross-legged with a stack of parchment on her lap, barely looked up. Draco, sprawled out beside her on his stomach and clearly writing something, looked slightly annoyed at the interruption.

"What are you two doing?" Ron asked immediately.

"Brainstorming, Weasley," Draco said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Surely you've heard of it before. Although," he smirked. "The word does imply that one _have_ a brain…"

Choosing, for once, not to rise to the bait, Ron simply muttered, "poncy git," and took a seat beside Hermione.

"We're trying to figure out where to look next, Ronald," Hermione answered, glancing at Ron and Harry. "And we'd be more than happy to hear your ideas on the matter. Wouldn't we, Draco?"

Draco snorted and scratched his quill noisily on the parchment.

"As I said," Hermione continued, graciously ignoring Draco, "anything either of you have to contribute would be fantastic."

Harry glanced at Ron, who was currently wearing a rather helpless expression on his face, and shifted uncomfortably before sitting down himself.

"Well, go on, Harry," Ron insisted, motioning with his hands. "Tell us something useful."

"Oh, yes, Harry," Draco chimed in eagerly. He looked up with mockingly wide eyes. "Please grace us lesser beings with your infinite wisdom. Please enlighten us so we can be just like you!"

"Get stuffed," Harry retorted, though he was smiling. He'd had no idea Draco could sound so much like one of the Creevey brothers.

"Maybe later, Potter," Draco drawled. When he turned and waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Ron, Ron's eyes bulged alarmingly and he turned a most unbecoming shade of crimson-red. Immediately, he grabbed up the nearest sheet of parchment and began studying it with a far more interested air than he'd ever exhibited with his homework.

Some time later, Hermione announced, "I think we should visit the Smith mansion."

After adjusting his awkwardly bent neck to look back up at her, Harry frowned slightly.

"What for? I mean, even Voldemort wouldn't hide the cup somewhere that obvious…" Harry trailed off when Hermione's eager expression didn't budge.

"Thanks for pointing that out, Harry," Draco said, shifting from his stomach to his back and stretching with a loud yawn.

"She could be right!" Ron insisted, nodding his head and frowning at Draco. "Maybe he figured… the more obvious the better!"

Hermione smiled and patted Ron on the knee. "Thank you, Ron. But that's not actually what I was thinking."

"Oh." Ron dropped his gaze and stared sulkily at his feet.

"What I was thinking," Hermione continued – Harry noted that she didn't remove her hand from Ron's leg – "was that perhaps there's some sort of clue as to finding the cup there. Something they never used when they were looking for it last time. Because, well, it was important and all, but obviously not in the way it is to us."

Harry still didn't understand where she was heading with all this but, even as he wondered, he noticed an enlightened expression stealing over Draco's pale features.

"Something like what?" Harry asked.

"Something like blood magic," Draco answered, cutting in before Hermione had a chance. After sitting up, he narrowed his eyes and leaned forward a bit. "Which, of course, is highly illegal and hasn't been used for centuries," his voice grew more intense, "but loads of pureblood wizards used to do it to protect their most prized possessions. Like a last-resort fail-safe really."

Hermione nodded enthusiastically and practically beamed rays of sunshine at Draco. "That's right!" she said. "And it's possible the living Smith descendents wouldn't even know about it if the cup were under some sort of blood magic."

"But you don't think they would've looked for that last time even if they did?" Harry questioned, looking between the two of them. The only blood magic he'd experienced up to this point had been last year in the cave with Dumbledore, where Voldemort had set up a barrier that would only allow one to pass once a sacrifice of human blood had been made. Harry's stomach churned at the idea that other sorts of magic including such barbarity existed.

"If the Ministry catches anyone fiddling with that stuff, you can get in loads of trouble," Ron answered, looking vaguely embarrassed to be talking. "A few years ago, my dad told me about some wizards who got caught trying out some really simple spell – and they got carted off to Azkaban for a few months just for that."

"And that's why you don't get caught when you're doing illegal stuff," Draco interjected, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, well, you would know all about that, wouldn't you?" Ron retorted angrily.

Ready to step in, lest the two of them decided to verbally – or physically – brawl yet another time, Harry was rather shocked when Draco merely narrowed his eyes at Ron.

"Yes, Weasley," he answered, surprisingly calm, "I do. And that makes me rather familiar with the concept of detecting where other people have done it also, don't you think?"

Ron puffed out his chest and muttered something moodily under his breath. As everyone present figured it was likely another insult, no one asked him to repeat himself.

"Of course I'm not condoning any illegal activities," Hermione said, looking pointedly at Draco, "but it is rather useful to have someone of your… background… working with us now."

"Gee, I'm so glad to be of use," Draco sneered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You know what she means," Harry said exasperatedly.

"I know what she means," Draco countered, still looking sulky. Harry swatted him playfully on the shoulder.

"Git."

Draco rolled his eyes, smirking. "So, are we going to pay the Smiths a visit or not?"

"What are you planning to do? Just march up to the front door?" Ron asked skeptically.

Draco shrugged. "What were you planning, Weasley? Breaking and entering? This may come as a shock to you, but most pureblood families have quite elaborate wards in place to protect against that sort of thing."

"_Could_ we just go up to the front door?" Hermione asked thoughtfully before Ron could reply.

"Initially, maybe. Although, Harry and I are wanted fugitives from the Ministry…you two probably are as well." He yawned again, stretching his legs lazily in front of him, jostling Ron slightly in the process. Ron scowled in response; Draco smirked.

"Well, maybe Ron and Hermione should go up to the front door…I don't know…they could make up something about being friends with Zacharias. Like, maybe they thought it was his birthday or something?" suggested Harry hopefully.

"Zacharias Smith is at Hogwarts, Harry," Hermione said, frowning. "And there's also the problem of getting past the wards." She looked at Draco imploringly at this last statement.

Draco snorted. "Of course, back to the law breaking. What, do all of you think I was raised to be a criminal or something? That my father taught me to break through wards before I even went to Hogwarts? My father finds such low-brow crimes frankly appalling."

Ron opened his mouth as if to say something, upon which Harry quickly shook his head. "_Don't_," he mouthed. Thankfully, Ron conceded.

Shooting Harry a bemused look, Draco continued. "But luckily for us all, I am quite aware of how most wards work. And if we could get past the wards, we'd hardly have to bother with some half-arsed story at the door."

"So we _are_ going to break in!" Ron said, looking rather smug. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"I suppose that would be the plebian way to put it," Draco drawled, leaning back casually on his palms. "Not that I would expect anything else, mind you."

Harry nudged Draco with his shoulder. "Be nice."

"Anything you say, Harry!" Draco said in the mock-Colin/Dennis Creevey voice.

Harry smiled in spite of himself. "So, umm, what's the plan, then?"

"Are you positive they'll have wards?" Hermione asked Draco, ignoring Harry.

"They're Hufflepuffs. In other words, they're probably scared shitless right now of the big, bad, Death Eaters snatching them out of their beds in the middle of the night. And, as is typical of Hufflepuffs, and your average complacent, rich, pureblooded family, the wards are ridiculously simple." The others looked at him expectedly.

"Blood magic," he said with a self-satisfied expression. "Of a sort, anyhow. Purebloods can pass through the wards quite fine. Others can't."

"Well, that's all fine for you and Ron," Harry said, frowning. "But what are Hermione and I supposed to do?"

"They're not terribly complex, you see. The real point of the wards was to keep out Muggles and Mud…Muggle-born," he corrected quickly, actually having the grace to look embarrassed. "People figured that occasionally even a pureblooded wizard might deign to marry a half-blood, or someone's Squib relative might need to come through. So Harry, if you and Hermione just hang on to me or Weasley, you should be fine."

"Should be?" Ron asked, looking worried.

Draco shrugged. "At Malfoy Manor our wards can be much more elaborate. For example, as far back as I can remember my father had the wards set so that anyone with less than a pureblood status would suffer a sort of spilching effect. Easily remedied, of course," he said off-handedly. "And he took them down for the Ministry parties we used to host. He just didn't want anyone uninvited snooping around where they shouldn't. The Ministry took them down, of course, after fifth year… but I wouldn't think Hufflepuffs would be quite that conniving."

"Wow," Ron said with a frown. "That's pretty messed up. Sounds like a real nice guy, your dad."

"I wasn't asking for your opinion, Weasley," Draco snapped. "I was just explaining the situation. Of course, since you're incapable of hearing even the simplest statement without making some self-righteous comment…"

"Okay!" Harry cut in brusquely. Reaching for Draco's hand, he gave it a quick squeeze in apology. "Ron, he was trying to help us understand things better, okay? Just…leave his dad out of it."

Draco snorted. "I'm quite capable of fighting my own battles, Harry," he muttered petulantly.

"Anyway," Hermione said rather loudly, sounding exasperated. "If we all could get back to the task at hand."  
"Yes," Draco added. "And if certain people here would quit behaving so childishly, we might actually get something accomplished."

"We _are_," Hermione ground out, glaring. "Could you please quit trying to pick fights with everyone, Draco? I feel like I've spent more time chaperoning you than anything lately!"

"Yeah," Ron cut in, perking up visibly now that Hermione's admonishing had turned somewhere besides him. "I don't know how you got anything done when Hermione wasn't there…"

Harry scowled at Ron, feeling rather bristled. "Well, seeing as one of us was usually unconscious for some reason or another, it worked out pretty well."

Fortunately for Ron, he generally understood his verbal blunders rather quickly after making them, and now was no exception. He hunched his shoulders and lowered his eyes, looking uncomfortable.

"Sorry," Ron muttered.

"Don't worry, Weasley," Draco said cheerfully, though he was glancing sideways at Harry with a curious expression, "we're all quite used to your rampaging mouth by now. We can't expect everyone to actually think before they speak, after all."

Not sure Draco had entirely succeeded in lightening the mood, Harry rolled his eyes, and then stifled a yawn.

"You better wake up, Harry," Hermione said, standing up with her bundles of papers gathered haphazardly in her arms, nearly spilling over them. "Because I am going to take a shower – and if I see any of you step foot out of this tent, I'll hex you! – and then we are going to the Smith mansion."

"A shower?" Harry said doubtfully. The clearing seemed nice and all, prime for a camping expedition, but he must have missed that part of it.

"I'm using a spell, Harry," Hermione explained, shaking her head. She paused, looking at Draco who, for some reason, was grinning widely. "What?" she snapped.

"Oh, nothing," he drawled, clearly amused. "I think it's rather funny, is all."

"My taking a shower is funny?"

Draco laughed. "No. I rather like being around clean people – shame for you, Weasley – but I do think it's rather funny that you warned off Potter and I, who are not interested in the female form, as you may have heard. And then you warned off Weasley, who obviously has seen you closer up than that. Or am I mistaken?"

Hermione's face immediately turned a beet-red that rivaled any Weasley at their most embarrassing moment. "I'm not going to dignify that comment with an answer!" And with that, she stomped out of the tent.

Harry grinned. "Good going."

. "It's true," Draco said with a shrug.

Ron, on the other hand, was looking quite miserable. "Did you have to get started on _that_?" he asked. Harry thought he looked a bit pathetic and attempted to tone down his smile a bit.

"It's called sex, Weasley," Draco replied, raising his eyebrows. "Or haven't you done it yet?"

"That's… that's none of your business!" Ron spluttered, standing up. "Just because you tell everyone about what you and Harry… Oh, god…I really don't want to talk about this…"

Ron stumbled out of the tent, and when the threat of Hermione's hex didn't happen, Harry burst out laughing.

"They really need to loosen up," Draco commented lazily, lying back with his good arm behind his head.

Harry shook his head and stretched out beside him. It was funny actually, how it had taken Harry a carefully deliberated conversation to know anything was going on with his two friends. And then Draco, in typical form, had just completely outed the two in less than three minutes. They lay in companionable silence for several minutes, and in spite of himself, Harry felt his eyelids growing heavy.

"Harry." Draco's voice jarred him to attention, and his eyes snapped open.

"Hmm. Yeah."

Draco rolled on his side, propping his head on his good arm. "Did it work at all? The Occlumency?"

"Er." Harry hesitated. In truth, the concept of clearing out his mind had remained elusive, and as such he had been unable to do so. And while he saw no point in worrying Draco unnecessarily, he figured his inability to perform Occlumency would become painfully apparent eventually.

Rolling on his side to face Draco, he grimaced slightly. "Well, to be honest…"

"You didn't do it," Draco said flatly.

"I tried!"

"Obviously not enough," Draco said indignantly, scowling. "Or it would have worked."

Harry sighed, rubbing at his scar distractedly. "You make it sound so easy, Draco…"

Draco's eyes widened slightly, following Harry's movements. "Does your scar hurt?"

"No! It's fine…" Harry dropped his hand quickly. "It's just a habit, I guess."

"Well, stop it!" Draco snapped irritably. "It's bad enough that you're falling all over the place…"

Harry snorted derisively. "For the last time, I do _not_ fall all over the place, okay? It was one time, and it might not even happen again!"

"And since it _might not happen again_, that's a good reason to not try?"

"I did fucking try!"

Sitting up with a huff, Draco muttered, "Obviously not."

Harry sat up as well, sullenly resting his head on his drawn-up knees. He stole a look at Draco, who was sitting in a similar position, his blond hair hanging over his eyes.

"Draco?"

"What," came the flat reply.

"I'm sorry."

When Draco didn't answer, he looked up sharply. "Did you hear me? I said I'm…"

"I heard you."

Harry opened his mouth, a reply on the tip of his tongue, but was interrupted by the tent flap being reopened. Hermione, fresh-faced from showering, poked her head in.

"Are you two ready?" She looked quizzically between the two of them. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing!" they replied in unison.

Hermione shrugged, looking nonplussed. "Whatever, then. I'll be outside with Ron." Ducking her head to back away, she apparently changed her mind. "Draco, I was wondering – do you know where the Smiths live? I can't believe I didn't think to ask you before…"

"Yeah. My father used to bring me around sometimes on Ministry business…it's how I knew where the Weasleys live."

"Good." Hermione looked relieved. She bit her lip nervously. "Oh, and I also wanted to tell you – Ron just received an owl from Mrs. Weasley, and we sent back a reply and asked that Lupin contact us. So that will hopefully happen soon. And also…" she frowned thoughtfully. "I'm sorry if I've been snappish lately…"

Draco smirked. "On the rag, Granger?"

Hermione scowled. "You are absolutely foul sometimes, you know that? And for the record, no. I actually wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for what I said to you earlier…"

"It's okay," Draco said quickly, looking surprised. "I mean, after having a good cry about it and all, I just might recover," he concluded with a wry smile.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're a complete prat is what you are." Looking between Draco and Harry, she sighed in exasperation. "Whatever is going on between you two, I suggest you both get over it. At least until we're back from the Smiths'." She ducked her head out, leaving the flap open.

Harry gulped, glancing at Draco, who apparently had the same idea. Their eyes meeting, Harry looked away quickly.

"Well," Harry said casually. "I guess we should get on with this."

"Yeah."

There was a pregnant pause. "Harry?" Draco asked tentatively after a moment. "Will you try? I mean, later? It's just…that is…" he sighed, brushing his hair out of his eyes and then making eye contact with Harry. "I would hate to see something happen to you, that's all," he said very quietly, looking away.

"I know," Harry said softly. "And nothing will. We can do anything together, remember?" He smiled sardonically. "Even get me to learn Occlumency."

"You better," Draco said with a raised eyebrow.

"Hurry up, you two!" Hermione yelled from outside the tent. "Ron, maybe you should poke your head in there…"

"Hell no!" Ron said, sounding panicked. "What if they're…oh god…"

"We're coming!" Harry yelled.

"Or will be later…" Draco said, smirking suggestively.

Harry groaned. "Don't talk like that now, please…"

Draco laughed and rose to his feet, extending a hand to Harry. "Shall we?"

**Reviews are always sought after and appreciated. Thanks for reading!**


	18. Chapter 18

Draco remembered visiting the Smith mansion the summer before he'd started Hogwarts; he'd been accompanying his father around various places in both Diagon and Knockturn Allies, feeling quite smug and grown-up

Draco remembered visiting the Smith mansion the summer before he'd started Hogwarts; he'd been accompanying his father around various places in both Diagon and Knockturn Allies, feeling quite smug and grown-up. People considered his father someone important, which by extension, made Draco important.

"Look at them, Draco," his father had said quietly, pointing at a family milling about on the sidewalk. "Do you notice anything different about them?"

Draco frowned. They just looked like regular people to him, though perhaps not as sharply dressed as the Malfoys. "No, not really."

Lucius smiled. "Would you be surprised, then, to learn that at least one of them is a Mudblood?"

Draco shivered, inching closer to his father. "Are we safe?" One of the children looked at him curiously. Draco sneered at him.

Lucius chuckled. "Quite. You shouldn't fear them, Draco. They should fear us. I merely wanted to illustrate to you just how easily they can infiltrate our society. If it were up to me, they'd all walk around with a giant "M" on their chests."

Draco nodded. His father was, without a doubt, one of the smartest wizards in the world. When Draco was grown and Minister of Magic, as his father said he would be, he would make things right. He shot a final glare at one of the Mudblood children, who simply looked confused.

Lucius was full of lessons that day, and as they walked up the ornately carved steps at the Smith mansion, he whispered to Draco quietly, "Mind your manners, Draco. Hufflepuffs are actually quite simple and silly, but if they believe that they have your respect, they can be swayed in any direction."

Draco nodded gravely, determined to make his father proud. His outings with his father were a rare and coveted occasion, better even than trips to the ice cream shop with his mother, and much better than visits to see his Grandmother Black, who smelled like mothballs and vinegar, and would pat his head and call him pretty.

Draco remembered these things almost fondly; fondly simply because he'd been so naïve, and beneath all of his brattiness, actually quite innocent. And having known Zacharias Smith at school, he now knew that Hufflepuffs could be every bit as devious as any Slytherin. But he didn't say this, of course.

"Do you think you can Side-Along all of us, Draco?" Hermione asked, looking perturbed. "It will be rather taxing on you."

Feeling rather humbled, as he always did when Hermione expressed concern for him (though he'd never say it), he nodded. Harry, looking rather concerned as well, sidled up next to him, clutching his arm.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, barely concealing his alarm. "Maybe you could take me first, so I know where it is, and then I can come back for Ron and Hermione."

Somewhere between annoyed and touched, Draco rolled his eyes before fixing Harry with an amused sideways gaze. "Really, Potter. I may look like a delicate flower, even smell like one," – Ron snickered – "unlike Weasley, but I'm perfectly capable of something as simple as Apparition."

"I know," Harry said quickly, glancing at his feet. "It's just, you know, your arm and all…"

"I'll be sure to save my fainting spells for later," Draco replied crisply. Uncomfortable at being reminded of the abhorrent, pulsating mass on his arm, and of what had to be done again in several hours, he grabbed Hermione's hand and smirked at Ron.

"Best hold on, Weasley," he said, already shutting his eyes and concentrating on the Smith mansion. "Wouldn't want me running off with your girlfriend, would you?"

Side-Along Apparition for three extra people, Draco discovered, was much different than only one. The familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube seemed to last much too long, as if he were being forcefully held back, deprived of air, deprived of his body even, until suddenly they popped through and were standing on solid ground once again. Draco staggered and gulped in air, and for a few terrifying moments, was quite certain his legs and lungs had been splinched away from his body.

"I knew you shouldn't have done that," Harry was saying beside him, hands firmly grasping Draco's shoulders, keeping him upright.

Draco shook his head and scowled as he gasped in a few more mouthfuls of oxygen.

"I'm fine," he announced tersely, shrugging away from Harry. Harry looked at him doubtfully. Behind him, Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance.

"Right," Harry said, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and looking forward with a small frown of his own. "Is that it?"

Draco followed his gaze and found himself staring at what had once been an estate of considerable beauty. As a child, naturally, Draco had managed to find fault with all things not approved by his father, this antique Hufflepuff residence being one of them. The lush gardens and elaborately designed mansion had been too breathtaking to insult with much vigor however, and, as Draco recalled, even Lucius had seemed to focus more on the occupants than the house itself. And that was why finding this broken, abused place now left Draco nearly as breathless as he'd been so many years ago.

"Wow," Ron breathed, stepping beside him, a look of utter horror on his face as he gazed around at the burnt, tattered remains of the gardens, the crumbling fixtures of the house. "Why… Why do you think they went after this place? You guys don't think the Ministry's doing this to everyone now, right?..."

"The Smiths probably did something to piss the Death Eaters off," Harry offered, sounding rather doubtful despite his words.

"Are we near the wards?" Hermione asked. She had a determined look on her face, although Draco noted she may have paled a few shades as well.

Draco nodded. Wordlessly, he cast a charm that sent a shower of golden sparks toward them as it connected with the invisible boundaries separating them from the grounds. They all took a step back to avoid the spray. "This is it," he said.

"What do we have to do?" Harry asked quietly, brushing shoulders with him. "About the blood magic, I mean."

"Ron and Draco have to cut themselves," Hermione answered. "That way the wards can recognize them as purebloods and allow us through."

Harry frowned. "But that's how the Death-Eaters probably got through, isn't it? Don't you think they would've changed things after that?"

"They probably can't," Draco answered, having already considered the possibility in his mind. "I'm sure they're under Ministry control now – meaning they can't change them, not that they're being watched."

"Are you sure? I mean, what if they're watching us right now?" Ron gazed around suspiciously at the trees.

"Because Voldemort has a tendency to underestimate his enemies," Harry answered, meeting Draco's eyes with a meaningful look.

"Fortunately for us," Draco answered distractedly. Next to him, Hermione had just conjured a small knife and was indicating for Ron to raise his hand.

"It won't hurt, Ronald," she admonished, grabbing his arm.

"Easy for you to say – ow!" Hermione's quick motion produced a thin line of blood across Ron's palm and drew a pathetic whimper from him.

Draco rolled his eyes and offered his own hand. "Way to prove your manliness, Weasley." Truthfully, the cut probably would've hurt much more if not for the constant aching already present in Draco's arm. As it were, he barely noticed it.

"Ready?" Draco asked, after Harry's arm had wrapped securely around his shoulders, mirroring Ron and Hermione's own position next to them. They each nodded.

"Put your cut hand out first," Draco instructed. He hoped the shakiness in his voice wasn't too obvious.

The wards appeared shimmery and gold-like around Draco and Ron's hands as they slowly inched forward. It instantly recognized their blood, which was good, or else they would've been thrown physically back, and an almost watery substance seemed to cling to their skin inside the magical barrier. Draco drew his hand back and found it completely dry. He let out a breath.

"Okay," he said, aiming to sound more confident than he felt. "Let's go through."

Harry's arm tightened perceptibly as they took a large step forward together. The feeling of walking through water overtook Draco's entire body for the briefest of moments, almost alarmingly feeling colder against his Dark Mark, but then they were through; the feeling vanished.

"It worked," Harry breathed, grinning at him. Ron and Hermione looked rather relieved as well.

"Of course it did," Draco replied haughtily. He ducked out from under Harry's arm and healed his hand with a quick charm. Just because it didn't particularly bother him was no reason to leave bloody handprints everywhere.

Hermione took a few steps forward. "Alright," she said, looking back, "Ron, you come with me. We'll go up to the doors and see if we can get in. But you two should hang back here until we know it's safe."

"Define 'safe'," Draco muttered, crossing his arms.

"Until we know if they curse them or offer drinks, I guess," Harry said nonchalantly. Draco glanced sharply at him.

"I thought we weren't doing that!" Ron balked, eyes widening in alarm. "I thought getting through the wards meant we were alright."

"And how do you propose on getting inside?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows.

Ron shrugged. "Well, look at it. There's bound to be a hole in the wall somewhere."

The once glamorous mansion may have been scorched and torn around the edges, but Draco seriously doubted any Wizarding family, even a Hufflepuff one, would allow that sort of damage to remain.

"We'll say we're friends of Zacharias', that he's not feeling well, and he wanted us to come fetch some things for him," Hermione said. Ron eyed her doubtfully but didn't resist when she grabbed his hand.

"Sounds like a winning plan," Draco remarked snidely, indicating for Hermione and Ron to get going.

"Um," Ron spoke nervously as they moved away. "What if they do try to curse us?"

Hermione's response was nearly muffled by the distance but Draco caught it just barely.

"We'll improvise."

"Naturally," Draco quipped, scowling at Harry. Harry just shrugged.

"It's worked every other time," he offered calmly. Draco's scowl deepened.

The wards hadn't been set terribly far from the mansion, all things considered. That worked in their favor as Draco and Harry could linger in the bushes, sparse as they were now, within easy view of the front steps as Hermione and Ron marched confidently up them. At least Hermione looked confident. Ron just looked flat-out nervous.

"If this plan doesn't give us away, Weasley's perpetually maroon face will," Draco said moodily, wincing as Hermione knocked firmly on the door.

Harry shook his head, though he was watching them attentively also. "It'll be fine," he said.

Draco snorted softly but said nothing, his eyes fixed on Ron and Hermione. The two were standing shoulder to shoulder at the front door, Ron fidgeting nervously and thrusting his hands in his pockets.

"Remind me why we needed Weasley to go up there?" Draco said softly, holding his breath as the door swung open to reveal a tiny house-elf.

Ignoring Draco's comment, Harry said, "I wish we had some Extendable Ears about now."

Draco nodded in agreement, watching silently as the house-elf, looking quite terrified, shook its head. Hermione said something, stooping slightly as if to speak on the elf's level. The elf said something else, backed away, and then the door was slamming shut.

"That obviously worked quite well," Draco quipped, watching as Ron looked at Hermione helplessly.

"Wait, I think someone's coming back out," Harry whispered. And sure enough, the door was opening once more, revealing a petite, dark-haired woman. She regarded them rather coldly, crossing her arms over her chest as Hermione talked.

"This is going nowhere," Harry said softly after a moment, sounding frustrated.

"I couldn't agree with you more," Draco said in agreement. The woman was speaking to Ron and Hermione, looking quite cross.

"She's going to slam the door in their faces," Harry said, his mouth close to Draco's ear. "We've got to do something."

"And just what do you propose we do?" Draco said exasperatedly. Harry stepped forward, his muscles tense and poised, a familiar look of intensity gleaming in his eyes. He watched the proceedings on the steps for another moment, then turned to Draco.

"We'll have to Stupify her."  
"Are you serious?" Draco asked, looking at Harry in surprise.

Harry nodded. "The cup might be in there, for all we know. And if it is, we have to do whatever it takes."

"How very Machiavellian of you, Potter," Draco said offhandedly, attempting to disguise his nervousness. "Okay, do we just march up there?"

Harry glanced at him, some of the intensity fading from his eyes. Apparently he'd forgotten that Draco hadn't been present on the trio's many daring adventures. He gave him a tight smile.

"Just follow my lead. It'll be okay," he added quickly.

"Follow your lead…right," Draco said skeptically, but Harry was already marching forward.

"Harry!" Draco hissed, dashing forward to catch up with him. Keeping a few paces behind Harry, he trailed nervously behind as Harry reached the front steps and began marching up resolutely.

"Sorry to interrupt," Harry said abruptly as he reached the top, Draco lingering behind him. Hermione scowled at them both, looking furious.

The dark-haired woman, whom Draco assumed was Mrs. Smith, stared incredulously at Harry for a moment, her mouth opening and closing as realization dawned in her eyes.

"You're Harry Potter!" She backed away, looking terrified. "You – you get away from my house!" She pulled her wand out, pointing steadfast at Harry.

Taking advantage of the attention being on Harry, Draco pulled out his own wand, aiming over Harry's shoulder.

"_Stupify_!" There was a flash of red light, and the woman fell limply to the ground. Harry turned around, grinning at Draco. Draco shrugged.

"What do you think you're doing?" Hermione demanded, rounding on Harry, and then on Draco. "You can't just go around stunning people whenever it suits your needs…"

"We have to get the cup, Hermione," Harry said quietly.

"Yes, I'm quite aware of that, Harry. And before you decided to barge up here, I was actually quite close to persuading Mrs. Smith to let us in!"

"And she would have been breathing down your necks the whole time, supposing she'd ever let you in," Draco countered. He nodded towards Mrs. Smith. "At least this way we can just get in and look for this cup. And she'll be fine – we'll Obliviate her before we leave…she'll never even know the difference."

Harrumphing slightly, Hermione muttered, "it's still wrong," but seemed slightly less adamant than before.

"What if there's someone else in there?" Ron asked quietly, following as Harry stepped through the doorframe.

Draco shrugged, following behind Harry and Ron. "Then we'll do the same thing."

"We could ask a house-elf when we see one," Hermione said helpfully. When all eyes turned questioningly towards her, she rolled her eyes. "I mean, obviously. All we have to do is ask if one of their masters is home, and that we need to speak with whoever is here."

"That's a great idea," Ron said, grinning at her. Hermione, if anything, seemed slightly taken aback by his praise, and smiled shyly at him in return.

The four walked down a marble entryway, nervously glancing around at the various corridors which led off to different parts of the house. So far, there were no signs of humans or house-elves.

"So," Harry said, coming to a stop in front of a David statue. "I think maybe we should split up or something."

"Good idea," Ron agreed. Draco nodded as well.

"Wait," Hermione said. "Let me try something first – _Accio_ Hufflepuff Cup!" Nothing happened. "_Accio _Horcrux!"

Still nothing. Hermione sighed. "Well, it was worth a shot."

"So, it must not be here, then," Ron muttered dejectedly.

"Unless it's protected with an anti-summoning charm," Draco said helpfully. "In which case, we may never find it."

Harry snorted. "Thanks for that, Draco."

"No problem."

"Here's what we're going to do," Hermione said, ignoring them. "Ron and Harry, you two check the west wing of the house for anything that might be useful. If you see any house-elves, don't forget to ask if anyone else is here. Draco and I will take the east wing – and let's make this quick, shall we? Why don't we meet back here in exactly fifteen minutes. And if one team is late, the other two will wait five minutes before looking for them." She surveyed the others, biting her lip slightly. "Agreed?"

"Sounds good to me," Ron said, shrugging. "Better than anything I could have come up with."

"That doesn't take much," Draco said under his breath. Hermione shot him a dirty look.

"I think it's a good plan, Hermione," Harry said encouragingly. "So we'll meet back in fifteen minutes…and be careful, okay? Both of you."

"Don't do anything stupid, Potter," Draco said in reply, attempting to sound blasé. Harry simply grinned, giving them both a small wave as he and Ron disappeared down the corridor. Draco watched as Harry's messy head became less and less visible, and wondered why he'd agreed to be separated from him.

"Draco," Hermione said softly, "we've got to get started." Draco nodded, wondering when he'd suddenly turned into a lost puppy when Harry wasn't around.

"There was actually method to my madness," Hermione said conversationally as they traveled down the finely polished hallway. "I figured that if anything else in the house is protected by blood-magic – or if the cup itself is, it would be useful to have you and Ron on each team."

"Makes sense," Draco said, genuinely impressed by her logic.

Hermione nodded, then frowned as if in thought. "Hmm, if your family wanted to hide something, where would you hide it?"

Draco's father actually had a rather vast catacomb under the library, which, prior to the Ministry's confiscation, has hosted a wide array of Dark and illegal objects. However, these were Hufflepuffs; extraordinarily devious ones, perhaps, but Hufflepuffs nonetheless.

"Well, my father actually had secret rooms under the library where he used to hide things, but I seriously doubt they've got any." They walked in silence for a few seconds.

Hermione poked her head around a doorframe. "Draco, look at this."

Draco looked into what appeared to be a records room of sorts, but seemed to have been recently rifled through, leaving haphazard stacks of paper scattered throughout.

"The Ministry's been here," Hermione said softly, stepping into the room. She bent over to pick up a paper, regarding it in silence before letting it flutter back to the floor.

"Pedigree charts," she said distastefully. "The Ministry's on a true witch-hunt, metaphorically speaking, of course…now they're even looking for Muggle-born family members amongst the pureblood families. It's disgusting – just like Nazi Germany."

Draco said nothing, staring at the fallen papers scattered liberally around their feet. Hermione sighed, crouching in front of a bookshelf to peruse through the record books at the bottom.

Crouching down to help her, Draco said softly, "I'm sorry." She looked at him in surprise.

"It's wrong what they're doing," he said quietly. He pulled a book out, flipping through it quickly. "I was a total bastard to you for years for something you can't even help – for something that doesn't even matter, really. And, I'm sorry."

She nodded, sniffing slightly as she tucked an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you."

He nodded, and they continued to search through the shelves for several more minutes.

"Shit," Hermione said, looking at her wand. Draco raised an eyebrow in response to her uncharacteristic language. "Time's almost up."

"How much time do we have left?"

"Three minutes."

"Shit." Draco began pulling books out more fervently, discarding the records books on the floor at a feverish rate.

"Look at this," Hermione said quietly, flipping open a large black book. Draco leaned closer, eyes widening as he realized what he was looking at.

"Dark spells," he said in a slightly awed whisper. Apparently he'd underestimated Hufflepuffs yet again. He reached over, flipping the page to a spell which promised to turn an enemy inside out.

"Maybe we should keep it," Hermione said. Draco looked at her in surprise. "It's part of knowing your enemy, isn't it?" Hermione added. "And spells by themselves aren't really bad – it's what you do with them that makes them Dark."

"I agree completely, Granger. I'm just not sure if the others will feel the same."

Hermione sighed, clutching the book to her chest. "Well, they'll have to deal with it. Because for all we know, we might find something useful in here about Horcruxes."

Draco looked at her dubiously, but nodded, rising to his feet. "We'd better get going before the search party comes for us." He extended a hand to Hermione, who seemed surprised but allowed him to help her up.

"Thanks," she said, sounding slightly amused. "You know, you're really not half the bastard you pretend to be."

Draco smirked. "Let's keep that between us, shall we?"

Draco stole one last glance at the scattered pedigree charts as they left the room. Though he hadn't said it to Hermione, similar charts for both the Malfoys and the Blacks existed at the Manor – or at least they had, before the Death Eaters had ransacked everything.

Hermione gave him a questioning look as they rounded the corner away from the room. "So…" she said tentatively.

"Yes?"

"You really don't believe that kind of stuff matters anymore? Blood and all…because, from a logical standpoint, it does, since apparently magic exists that can recognize a pureblood."

Draco frowned thoughtfully. "Hmm, you have a good point. And maybe on some level, it does. But if you want to know the truth…"

She looked at him expectedly.

"I've seen every kind of blood there is," he said quietly. "Purebloods, halfbloods, Muggles, Squibs…I've seen it spilled in every way imaginable. And, you know, it all looks the same in the end."

Hermione regarded him for a moment, a vaguely sad expression on her face. It made Draco uncomfortable, and he distractedly began kneading his fingers together at his sides.

"I'm sorry," she said, very softly.

"Sorry for what?" Draco asked with a sideways glance. Now he felt thoroughly annoyed with himself. Opening up this subject with Harry was one thing, but the last thing he wanted was Hermione's sense of pity for him inflating more than it already had.

"I'm sorry you went through that," Hermione said. "And no, I'm not excusing you for any of your past behavior – because I know you're not stupid and I never thought you were – but no one can control what's done to them. Look at Harry. Look at _you_."

Draco shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably.

"It's not like I've had a horrible life or anything," he muttered, scanning up ahead for Harry and Ron.

Hermione came to a halt beside him, the Dark book clutched tightly to her chest.

"Draco…"

Draco scowled. "I haven't! I know everyone thinks my family is irrevocably fucked up, which they are, but…" He trailed off when he saw the expression on Hermione's face. She wasn't looking at him at all. In fact, she didn't appear to hear anything he'd just said.

"What?" he asked, following her gaze.

"Isn't this where we left Mrs. Smith?" she said slowly, turning to him, eyes wide and alarmed.

"Oh, fuck," was the only thing Draco could think of to say.

"Yes," Hermione echoed. She grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. "Fuck."

Under any other circumstances, Draco would've found Hermione's dirty mouth terribly amusing. Now, however, "fuck" seemed the only appropriate word to describe their situation. Whatever that happened to be.

"She can't have woken up that fast," Hermione murmured, more to herself that Draco, as they moved quickly back behind the wall. "There must be someone else here."

"You think?" Draco snapped. He glanced around the corner and, again, found no one in sight. "Where the fuck are Harry and Weasley?"

"They probably saw that she was gone too, and hid like we are," Hermione said firmly. Draco looked at her, raising his eyebrows incredulously. Her face fell.

"Oh, for god's sake!" she went on, rubbing her face nervously. "They're not that stupid!"

Draco shook his head, returning his attention to the foyer. "They're not stupid," he agreed, "but they don't exactly think things through all the time, do they?"

Hermione sighed and reached for her wand. "Not exactly, no."

"What are you doing?" Draco asked as she raised her arm.

"A detection spell," she answered, after silently mouthing a few words. "I charmed a piece of clothing from each of you before we left. In case we got separated obviously."

"Hmm. Good thinking."

Hermione sniffed. "I know."

"Well?" Draco impatiently gestured around with his hand. "Where are they?"

"I think they're still searching back there." She rolled her eyes. "They probably lost track of time. Good thing, apparently."

"Wait," Draco frowned, "you _think_?"

Hermione peeked around the corner. "It's not an exact art," she snapped.

A sudden clatter drew both their attentions and instantly sealed their mouths.

"Well, someone set the alarms off!" someone was saying loudly from right outside the front doors. Hermione and Draco shared a glance.

"Yes," a second voice answered. "A pureblood set it off. So why exactly are we here again?"

Draco's heartbeat quickened marginally. The bearer of the second voice, a female voice, sounded rather familiar... and yet he couldn't quite place it, as if he hadn't heard that voice in years.

Hermione leaned closely into him. "Do you think – "

Draco motioned for her to be quiet.

"We're here," the first speaker responded, again very loudly, "because no one is supposed to cross wards without the Ministry's permission. _And_, the only way to cross without our permission would be with blood magic, which is illegal!"

"I know that," the second speaker retorted crossly, then stepped into the house. Draco just barely caught a glimpse of glaring pink hair before Hermione yanked him back behind the wall.

"Draco!" she whispered excitedly, "I know who that is! She can help us!"

"Shh!" Draco dragged them back a few steps so they weren't so close to the foyer. "You know her? And why is she with the Ministry?"

Hermione nodded her head vigorously, clutching the book tighter than ever. "That's Nymphadora Tonks! She's part of the Order of the Phoenix. She must be undercover like Lupin."

Draco groaned softly and dragged a hand through his hair. "Great. Another one." Before Hermione could ask what he meant, he went on. "Wait a minute," he said, now recalling, quite clearly, his estranged cousin's family history. "She's a half-blood. How is she working for them?"

"She's a Metamorphagus! It means – "

"I know what it means!" Draco snapped. "I just fail to see how she'll be able to help us, Metamorphagus or not."

Draco recalled, suddenly, the conversation between Mrs. Weasley and Harry regarding his cousin and Lupin. And, difficult as it was to think of Lupin without feeling a mixture of outrage and hurt, he couldn't help but wonder if Tonks could prove any better.

Something must have shown on his face, because Hermione was regarding him in that sad way again.

"What?" Draco snapped again.

Hermione shook her head, her mouth opening slightly as if to say something. What it was, however, he would never know.

"Shh, it's just us," a familiar voice whispered from his left. Draco whipped around, his relief palpable as Harry's face came into view. Unable to help himself, an enormous grin contorted his mouth, and was met by one of Harry's own.

Ron, sidling next to Hermione, looked rather sheepish. "Sorry we're late," he said quietly. "We kind of lost track of time…and neither of us thought to set our wands to let us know when time was up."

Draco and Hermione gave each other a knowing glance, Hermione's eyes rolling to the back of her skull. Draco smirked.

"We figured as much," Hermione said with a slight smile. "But, whatever. At the moment, we have bigger problems."

"Yeah, like the Ministry being here," Harry said in a hushed tone. "They're all over, and Ron and I heard them say something about reinforcing the wards…I don't know how we're going to get out of here."

"Well," Ron said, "we might just have to hang out here for a few hours, but it will be okay, won't it? I mean, they'll have to leave eventually."

"They know we're here, Ronald," Hermione whispered, quite calmly considering the situation. "Mrs. Smith saw us, remember? And with the wards going back up, they'll know we can't have left, and they'll keep searching until they find us."

As if hearing them, the voices seemed to move closer and closer to their hiding place behind the wall. Draco held his breath, moving as close to Harry as possible. This was it. If the Ministry found them, they were as good as dead; Draco, Ron, and Hermione would most likely be sent to Azkaban, where a Kiss was apt to be waiting for Draco. And Harry…he would probably be delivered right back to Voldemort. Draco shivered, clutching Harry's arm so tightly it likely hurt. He wouldn't let it happen, he decided. If death for him was certain, he would at least go out fighting and with wand drawn.

"She says that Harry Potter marched right up to her doorstep," one of the Ministry officials was saying. Draco recognized the voice – he'd been one of the Death Eaters at the Manor. A particularly brutal one, if memory served correctly.

"Come on, Novell," a female voice – Tonks – was saying. "She also said she spent her morning drinking Firewhisky – do you really think she's reliable as a witness? And," Tonks added, "remember what happened last week? When she swore she saw Harry Potter flying on a broom outside her window? I didn't want to say it in front of the others, but I think losing her husband and nearly losing her son has driven her a bit mad."

"You're probably right," Novell said, still sounding uncertain. "But what about the wards? A pureblood _did _set them off…"

"It might have been her," Tonks said quietly, her voice much too close for comfort. Her footsteps moved closer and closer to the wall, so close that Draco was sure she could hear their collective heartbeats. All she had to do now was look around the corner, and she would see them.

"Again, I didn't want to say anything," Tonks continued, "but I just really don't think she's in a right state of mind right about now…I think we should search the place thoroughly, just in case, but I'm not expecting to find anything or anybody."

Just as Tonks was concluding, her head appeared around the corner, her eyes widening in surprise. Draco met her gaze unflinchingly, seeing with some shock that she looked at him with something akin to pride. Giving them all an almost surreptitious nod and winking at Harry, she stepped back and out of sight.

"What, did you see something?" Novell asked anxiously, moving closer. Draco held his breath, feeling Harry return the vice-like grip on his arm.

"Oh, they have the most adorable cat!" Tonks said happily, stepping away. "I guess it was scared of me, because it ran away."

"Good," Novell muttered. "I hate cats."

"Shame," Tonks said blithely. "It really was precious."

Novell sighed impatiently. "Care to get back to the task at hand? Or would you rather chase after a fucking cat?"

Tonks gave a small laugh. "Yes, of course. Let's go back to assisting the others, shall we?"

Novell muttered something unintelligible as they left the room, and eventually their footsteps faded entirely.

Draco let out a sigh of relief, leaning against Harry with rubbery legs.

"I told you she'd help us," Hermione said quietly, obvious relief permeating every nuance of her voice.

"Thank god it was Tonks and not the other guy who saw us," Harry whispered.

"Since she saw us, maybe she'll kind of hurry things along so we can get out of here," Ron suggested hopefully. "And since they probably won't search the same room twice, we should be safe enough here until they leave."

"Depends on how long we're waiting here," Draco said quietly. "In case everyone's forgotten, I have a rather pressing appointment for later." He held out his arm for emphasis, where the Dark Mark was already growing darker and more prominent.

"Is it burning?" Harry asked, looking horrified.

"Not yet. It hasn't been sixty-six hours."

"It's been sixty-four," Hermione said softly, looking at Draco sympathetically. "It will probably start to burn a little, as it gets closer."

"Lovely," Draco muttered, uncomfortable with the sudden attention.

"What'll we do if we're still here in two hours?" Harry asked softly, lightly running a finger over Draco's wrist.

"I don't know," Hermione answered, frowning. "If worst comes to worst, I suppose we can do it here…I'd rather not, of course, particularly since the Dark magic that the spell is trapping could be detectable, if they're looking for that sort of thing."

"So basically, doing the spell could put us all at risk," Draco said, scowling.

"Possibly…but if we're still here, we'll have little choice."

Harry nodded in agreement, squeezing Draco's hand.

"There is a choice, actually," Draco said hoarsely, pulling his hand out of Harry's. "No one's saying it, but I think it's rather obvious…"

Harry drew in his breath, looking horror-stricken at the suggestion. "No. Absolutely not, Draco."

"I agree," Hermione said quietly. "Giving yourself up would be stupid on many levels, Draco."

"And so would letting us all get caught…letting them give Harry back to Voldemort."

"Don't be an idiot, Malfoy," Ron said. Everyone stared at him in surprise. "You're one of us now, don't you get it? And we're not going to leave you behind at the first sign of danger. Git."

Draco swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. "Thanks," he mumbled finally.

"If it comes to it, we'll fight our way out of here," Harry said firmly. "Believe me, we've faced worse situations than this and came out alright…this is nothing."

"Let's just wait and see if they leave," Hermione said. "If they're still here in an hour, we'll start worrying." She slid down the wall, laying the Dark book on her lap and thumbing through it.

"What's that?" Ron asked, sliding beside her.

"A book Draco and I found earlier."

Ron peaked over her shoulder, his eyes widening. "Holy fuck, Hermione, that's a book on the Dark Arts!"

"No shit, Weasley," Draco said as cuttingly as he could muster, which was actually rather difficult after Ron's semi-speech.

"What?" Harry asked sharply, crouching beside Hermione. He frowned, looking at Draco accusingly.

"What, you think I made her take it?" Draco demanded, feeling slightly stung. "For your information, Harry, it was her idea to take it, not mine. I may have been a Death Eater once, but…"

"You weren't a Death Eater," Harry said exasperatedly. "And I wasn't accusing you of anything, I just know that you have a passing interest in this sort of thing."

"And by 'this sort of thing,' you mean the Dark Arts, am I right?" He slid against the wall as well, scowling.

"Would you two stop it?" Hermione snapped. "It was my idea to take it, and if you'd think for a second, you'd understand why." She looked between Harry and Ron imploringly. "What kind of magic do you think Voldemort and the Death Eaters use? The spells we learned in Charms class? They're using advanced Dark magic far beyond our expertise, and it would be wise of us to learn something about it, don't you think? Not to mention that the Horcruxes themselves were created with Dark magic…"

"I just don't think anything good can come out of it," Harry said softly. "And I know about Dark spells, Hermione, because I've seen them in action. I even used one once, accidentally, and I nearly killed someone."

"That's because you were using a spell you knew nothing about," Draco said, knowing instantly that Harry was referring to the Sectumsempra incident. "And I'm quite sure you were provoked."

"That's no excuse for it," Harry said firmly.

"Be that as it may…" Hermione said ostentatiously.

"Hermione's right, Harry," Ron said, cutting Hermione off. "We're not at Hogwarts anymore, and, well…this is the ugly reality of things."

Harry shrugged. "I guess so," he muttered noncommittally.

The minutes dragged slowly by from that point on. With every check of the time, the sense of urgency surrounding them grew more and more palpable and soon, Draco was no longer sure if the burning in his arm was from the spell or the Mark itself. And then, quite suddenly, the answer became horrifyingly obvious.

In the same instant, Harry, who had been nervously tapping his fingers on Draco's leg, and Draco, broodingly gazing at the wall, both doubled over in pain, Harry's hands flying to his forehead, Draco's to his left forearm. For several seconds, Draco could barely hear Hermione and Ron's alarmed words through the blood rushing through his head and the agonizing burn that threatened to eat his entire arm away.

The only thought running through his mind during all of it was that he hoped Harry was using Occlumency. If not, they were all fucked.


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note: Finally, another chapter

**Author's Note: Finally, another chapter! You know, right after I posted the last chapter, I realized that I had failed to thank everybody who had reviewed for the previous one…sorry! It doesn't mean we appreciate you any less, it just means I was in a hurry. So a belated thanks to everybody who reviewed chapter 17!**

**As for this chapter, thanks so much to Queenie (btw, you didn't miss anything. He's just an irrelevant character we made up for the two lines he needed to say), Moonlight Princess, Lisi the slayer, passionate life, doralinda, DanuMarie, Enigmus, and Dumbledude. You guys are awesome, as always. **

**Chapter Nineteen**

"Harry! HARRY!"

_No_, Harry thought hazily. _No, I won't listen to you…Close my mind… I have to close my mind…_

A sharp sting across his face abruptly brought Harry back to reality, though just how real it was as he stared into the worried faces of Hermione and Ron, he wasn't sure.

"Fuck," Harry breathed, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. "I did it. I think so, at least… Draco, what's…" He trailed off suddenly upon realizing Draco was not included in the worried faces hovering above his own.

Harry immediately sought out his companion, still beside him – thank god – but his stomach dropped when he saw Draco appeared to be in no better state than himself. Hunched over, breathing forcefully slow, clutching his forearm in a vice-like grasp, Draco's current appearance reminded Harry all too strongly of the tormented visage he'd managed to shed only days before.

Apparently realizing he was being watched, Draco looked up, eyes hooded.

"Well?" he asked. "What happened?"

"Um," Harry said, having trouble taking his thoughts from Draco, "I think Voldemort is really angry about something, but… I don't know what it was. I made it shut off before I could really see anything."

Draco nodded, then wearily closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall with a sigh. Harry turned back to Hermione and Ron worriedly.

"That's good? Right?" Ron asked, glancing between both of them. "I mean, if he's angry, then he doesn't know where we are, right?"

Hermione shook her head affirmatively but her expression was distracted, skewed with concern as she watched Draco.

"We're going to have to do it now," she said softly, settling on her knees in front of him. Draco opened his eyes, swallowed, and nodded shakily.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, feeling utterly helpless. It may not have shown, but he knew Draco was terrified. And that terrified him in turn.

"Yes," Hermione answered at the same time Draco rolled his eyes and said, "obviously."

Harry bit his lip and nodded, scooting closer to Draco, hoping the contact would bring them both some comfort. Ron caught his eye and shrugged feebly.

"Wait," Draco pulled his arm away from Hermione as she reached for it. She looked at him in exasperation.

"We have to do it," she said.

Draco scowled. "Yes, I _know_," he answered. "I was going to suggest that we check to see if we can leave first. Before we risk exposing ourselves with this fucking spell."

"I just did another detection charm," Hermione replied, looking regretful. "Right before you and Harry… Anyway, there are still about three of them hanging around the wards."

"So there's no way to get past," Ron finished for her, looking crestfallen.

Draco cursed under his breath. "Fine," he snapped. "Well, someone is going to have to Stupefy me first."

"What?" Hermione and Ron said together.

Harry's eyebrows disappeared underneath his messy fringe of hair. "Draco, what the hell are you talking about?"

"As you may have noticed last time," Draco answered moodily, gingerly rolling up his sleeve with one hand, "this particular spell stings a bit. And being loud isn't exactly an option right now, is it?"

"Why would you be loud?" Ron asked, his eyes wide.

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione murmured. The gruesome mark now revealed in full, she brushed her fingers lightly along the edge, eliciting a small intake of breath from Draco.

"See what I mean?" he muttered.

Harry remembered, all too well, the agony this spell had caused Draco the first time it had been cast. He'd been hoping, just maybe, it would get easier the second time around. Judging from the current state of things however, he seriously doubted that would be the case.

"Okay," Harry said. "We'll Stupefy you."

Hermione continued, glancing sideways at Harry. "But we'll have to wake you up afterwards. We won't have any chance of getting out of here if you're unconscious."

"Brilliant," Draco said. He took a steadying breath. "I don't suppose you have your Muggle medicine with you, Granger?"

Hermione smiled slightly. "Of course I do."

Before Draco could respond, she had muttered a quick Stupefy, the flash of red light getting lost in the afternoon sun, and Draco slumped back, his head sagging against his chest. Harry tightened his arm around Draco's shoulders and nodded to Hermione.

"Keep a lookout, Ron," she instructed. Ron nodded quickly and scrambled to his feet.

With a final glance at Harry, Hermione bent over Draco's arm and began reciting the song-like incantation once again.

Even unaware, Draco's body seemed to respond naturally to the painful stimuli, stiffening and jerking slightly in Harry's arms, searching fruitlessly for a way to escape. All Harry could do was hold tight and watch, horrifyingly entranced, as the spell worked its way into the Dark Mark. Smoky black tendrils swirled all around Draco's lower arm while the skin underneath glowed an unearthly red, pulsing visibly as if some living thing were trying to escape from underneath. Considering how Hermione had explained it, in a sense, that was exactly what was happening.

Finally, Hermione's chanting came to a cease, and Draco gave a terrible shudder before falling limply against Harry. Even unconscious, he held his left arm awkwardly against his body, trembling slightly. Harry gulped, holding him close and brushing the hair out of his eyes.

Hermione sniffed, her face wet with tears. "I hate this," she muttered. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a tube of medicine. "Hold out his arm, Harry," she instructed hoarsely. Harry did so, gently prying Draco's left arm away from his body and holding it out as Hermione gingerly dabbed ointment over the angry curse wound.

"Can't we let him rest for awhile?" Harry asked softly as he lowered Draco's arm carefully. Draco twitched fitfully once again, his head lolling back against Harry's shoulder.

Hermione shook her head sadly. "He needs to be awake and aware in case something happens." Biting her lip, she pointed her wand at Draco. "_Ennervate."_

Draco gave a strangled gasp, doubling over and clutching his arm. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he panted sharply. Harry saw Ron's eyes widen from his lookout post.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said tearfully.

Draco nodded brusquely, his breaths ragged. "Where's Harry?" he managed to ask hoarsely. Apparently in his severe pain, he hadn't even noticed that he'd pushed himself out of Harry's grasp.

"Right here," Harry said, scooting beside him and gripping his right hand. Draco squeezed his hand in return, his face pale and drawn, his eyes watering slightly.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked quietly, feeling helpless.

Draco made a hoarse noise, lowering his head to Harry's shoulder. It took Harry a moment to realize it had been a laugh. "Oh, Harry," he whispered affectionately, kissing his neck.

Ron, who had been alternating between keeping a look-out and watching Harry and Draco with growing bemusement, cleared his throat.

"Get over it, Ron," Hermione said impatiently.

His face turning as red as his hair, Ron sputtered, "No! That's not what I…umm, there's somebody coming!"

Hermione rose to her feet quickly, standing beside Ron and peering around the corner. "Shit," she cursed vehemently.

"What is it?" Harry asked in alarm. Draco weakly withdrew his head from Harry's shoulder, his eyes still glassy with pain.

"It's the guy we saw earlier with Tonks," Hermione whispered urgently, her fingers digging into Ron's arm. "And he's headed our way, along with two other men."

"Shit," Harry echoed.

"They must have detected the activity through Draco's Dark Mark," Hermione said quietly. "Or your scar, Harry."

Harry nodded, not really caring one way or the other. He pulled out his wand, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"We'll have to fight," Harry said firmly, standing to his feet. Ron and Hermione nodded, pulling out their wands in turn. He turned to Draco, who was staring morosely ahead. "Draco, if you'll just wait here…"

Draco scowled. "No fucking way." Using his good arm, he pushed himself to his feet, and wincing, pulled out his wand.

"Draco…"

"I'm not an invalid, Harry!" Draco snapped.

"But you're not exactly in top form either, are you?" Harry snapped back.

"Stop it!" Hermione said shrilly, whipping her head back to face them. "They're getting close, so shut up!"

The four fell silent, shrinking back against the wall as the footsteps drew nearer and nearer.

"We could make a run for it," Ron whispered, eying around the opposite corner.

Ignoring Ron's suggestion, Harry said, "As soon as they come around the corner, we disarm them and stun them."

The others nodded, collectively holding their breath. Suddenly, someone was pulling him forward, holding a hand over his mouth.

"It's me," he heard a familiar voice say to the others, releasing Harry. Harry stepped back, watching with astonishment as Tonks' head was revealed in midair.

"Invisibility Cloak," she said brightly. "You left it behind at the Manor, Harry. Remus gave it to me in case I ran into you." She pulled off the cloak entirely, placing it in Harry's hands. Grinning, she said, "Wotcher, Harry." She nodded at Ron and Hermione, then her gaze fell on Draco.

"Hello, cousin." Her eyes, currently a strange shade of purple, swept over him, and she frowned as they fell on his arm. "Are you alright?"

"Brilliant," Draco said sardonically. "Considering we're seconds away from being attacked by Death Eaters…"

"Oh, don't worry about them," Tonks said with a sly grin. "I put up a shield charm of sorts around you lot, back when I first saw you. They can't see or hear you unless they manage to get past the shield…and only the castor has that privilege. We Aurors know many useful spells."

"So they didn't detect us?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowing slightly.

"They detected something, but they have no idea where from."

"Good," Harry said, breathing a sigh of relief. Draco, looking incredibly relieved as well, slumped back against the wall, closing his eyes briefly.

"Let me see your arm," Tonks said to Draco. Draco, looking slightly surprised, gave a shrug and held out his left arm, revealing the pulsing mass of his Dark Mark. Tonks drew in her breath sharply. "May I?" She held out her hand. Draco shrugged indifferently.

"Incredible," Tonks said softly, gently tracing her finger around the Mark. "You've managed to trap the magic inside, rendering it useless. That's magic beyond most of the Auror department, you know."

"It was Hermione," Ron piped in. "She created the spell herself."

Tonks smiled at Hermione, open admiration on her face. "It's brilliant." Her gaze shifted back to Draco, her smile quickly fading. "I know it must hurt terribly, Draco."

"It's not too bad," Draco said with false bravado. "I've felt worse."

Tonks smiled sadly at him, reaching forward to give his good arm a squeeze. Draco blinked in surprise. "You've done well, cousin. Remus told me about what happened…I'll have you know I was horrified."

Draco closed his eyes, looking exhausted. "Yeah, well, I know how it is. I don't take it personally."

"What is she talking about, Draco?" Harry asked quietly.

"Never mind," Draco said brusquely. He shifted his gaze away.

"Tonks, what were you horrified about?" Harry persisted, suspicion gnawing hungrily at the edges of his mind.

"Not now, Harry," Tonks answered with a fleeting look at Draco.

Harry frowned. "But - "

Hermione interrupted him. "No, she's right, Harry. We can talk later." She glanced around the corner. Harry followed her gaze.

The three Ministry Wizards were still perusing slowly around, appearing both bored and aggravated at the same time with the current situation. Luckily, none of them had come any closer yet; under charm or not, Harry imagined their walking into an invisible barrier in the middle of the room might just pique their interests.

"What are we going to do?" Harry asked, unable to keep his eyes from Draco's shaky form even as he directed the question to Tonks.

She grinned. "Something ridiculously easy. And they'll never know what hit them."

"You want us to attack them?" Draco asked sharply, looking up. "I don't see how that would be helping us, exactly."

Tonks shook her head, raising her neon pink eyebrows. "Nah. Not attack them. Just walk on by, that's all. The charm I put around you lot will stay in place until you've passed back through the wards. From there, I imagine you can get along on your own."

"You're not coming with us, then," Ron said in a disappointed voice.

Harry answered before Tonks could. "She's got stuff to do here, Ron." He gazed at the floor for a moment before looking back to Tonks with bright eyes. "You know, I don't know what we would've done some of these times, if it weren't for you and Remus."

Tonks eyed him quizzically for a moment, much to Harry's confusion, before glancing once again at Draco and then back to Harry. The sudden comprehension in her face was unnerving. Especially since Harry had no idea what it meant.

"Glad we could help," she said slowly. "Now," Tonks began quickly hugging each of them, "you four need to get a move on, and I need to get back before I'm missed."

Harry smiled slightly as Tonks turned her affections to Draco, who returned her hug with an awkward pat on the back and a bemused expression on his face.

"Give Remus our regards," he said as she pulled away. It may have been Harry's imagination, but he thought Draco sounded rather sardonic. And that, considering how their former professor has assisted them, made absolutely no sense.

Tonks, however, took the comment in stride and simply nodded. "See you all later then. And be careful." Then, with a final wink, she rounded the corner and began ordering her counterparts around with an extremely bossy air.

"Okay," Hermione said, stepping forward. "Let's all stay as close together as possible. The shield charm works based on a certain boundary, so if anyone were to get too far away, they could see you."

"No shit," Draco muttered, pushing himself off the wall. Hermione frowned at him but said nothing.

As they moved cautiously along the edges of the room, Harry reached for Draco's right hand and was relieved when he gripped back without hesitating, even if his grip didn't seem quite as firm as normal. Getting through the door was easy enough – seeing as Tonks kept the other Aurors as far away as possible – but once through the door, they were on their own.

"Which way?" Ron asked to no one in particular.

All their eyes, save for Draco's, turned to Hermione, waiting for an answer.

She frowned and shook her head. "I'm looking…"

"Perhaps you should look a little faster, Granger," Draco ground out, gesturing to where a group of Ministry workers were heading straight for them.

"There!" she said suddenly, pointing. Harry grunted in surprise when she grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged them forward, yanking Draco along as well.

"Wait up!" Ron yelped.

They stopped just short of the wards, which Hermione had set a marker to detect this time around, and Harry took a deep breath when she reconjured the small knife.

"Oh, you've got to be joking," Ron complained, eyeing the knife warily. "Do we really have to do this again?"

"Get a grip, Ronald," Hermione answered impatiently, nicking a small cut into Ron's palm. "If anyone should be complaining, it's Draco. Not you."

Draco offered out his own hand and barely winced as Hermione drew an equal line into his skin. "Why should I complain," he joked half-heartedly, "when I'm having such a fabulous day?"

The experience through the magical barrier was no more or less spectacular than last time, nor was the immediate sensation of being pulled away by Side-Along Apparition the moment they were all through. But when Harry's world and vision readjusted, he turned abruptly to Draco and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Please tell me that was not you," Harry said, glaring.

Draco glared back and tried to shrug Harry off. "You think I'm stupid enough to try Apparating someone else right now?"

Harry snorted. "It wouldn't be the first time you've done something like that."  
"Boys!" Hermione cut in, looking at them strangely. "Calm down. Ron and I did it. Just like when we came here the first time. Now, Draco, you really should go rest."

"Yes, _mother_," Draco sneered, though his scorn was half its normal strength. This time, he was successful in ducking out of Harry's grasp.

"No," Harry said, taking a step and grabbing for Draco. "I want you to tell me what Tonks was talking about first."

With a knowing glance, Hermione and Ron slipped quietly away.

"We'll just be inside, looking over the book," she said as they disappeared beneath the flap.

Harry barely noticed as he took another step towards Draco, hand outstretched. At the last second however, Draco turned sideways and Harry's grasping fingers scratched roughly over his forearm. His left forearm.

"Fuck!" Draco gasped, stumbling backwards, clutching his arm and skewing his face into a painful grimace. "_Fuck_, Potter!"

Horrified, Harry stepped quickly to his side, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry! God, Draco, you know I would never – it was an accident…"

"Harry! It's alright. It's alright," he repeated forcefully, his face twisted painfully.

Feeling horrible, Harry gently kneaded his shoulder. "Do you want me to get some more medicine from Hermione?"

Draco shook his head, wincing slightly at the movement "I just want to lie down awhile."

Harry nodded, keeping an arm around Draco's shoulders as he carefully maneuvered him into their side of the tent.

"I really am sorry," Harry repeated as Draco gingerly lowered himself onto his bed.

"It was an accident," Draco murmured, closing his eyes. "No point beating yourself up about it."

Harry nodded, reaching down to pull off Draco's shoes and drape a blanket over him.

"Thanks," Draco said hoarsely, rolling onto his side. Harry watched him for a moment, noting the increasing dark circles under his eyes.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Harry asked fruitlessly. "If there's anything I can do…"

Draco eyelashes fluttered open, his eyes still hazy with pain. "There is, actually," he said softly, sounding slightly embarrassed. "Stay here…with me. Like you did back at the Manor."

"Of course," Harry replied immediately, all thoughts of Horcruxes and Tonks banished for the time being. Transfiguring their two beds into one, Harry slid beside Draco, careful not to jostle him. Lying face to face with legs entwined, Harry draped an arm over Draco, tracing small patterns on his back. Draco made a contented hum, resting his forehead against Harry's and closing his eyes.

Harry sighed, his fingers stroking lazily on the nape of Draco's neck. "It seems like all we do is argue lately," Harry said softly.

Draco snorted softly, the exhaled air tickling Harry's upper lip. "You're noticed. Well, it's us, Potter. What did you expect? That we'd ride off into the sunset?"

Harry gulped. "I just…it doesn't mean I'm angry with you, you know. Or that I don't care."

Draco brushed his lips softly over Harry's. "Don't be stupid. Of course I know that."

Harry twined his fingers through Draco's hair, kissing the corners of his mouth. "Good," he said, very softly.

They were silent for a few moments, Draco's eyes closing as he leaned into Harry. However, rather than revel in the peaceful moment with Draco, Harry found his mind relentlessly going back to his conversation with Tonks.

"Draco?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Hmm?"

"Can you please tell me what Tonks was talking about?"  
Harry felt Draco stiffen. "You just won't let it rest, will you? I have a right to my privacy, you know."

"It must not be that private, if Tonks knows about it," Harry retorted sharply, feeling slightly stung.

"Yeah, well, maybe I haven't told you for a reason, ever thought of that?" Draco pulled back slightly, but Harry held him in place, his hand on the back of Draco's neck.

"I haven't held anything back from you, Draco," Harry said angrily. Draco's eyes met his defiantly. "Which is actually quite amazing, considering who we are."

Draco gave a bitter laugh, wriggling out of Harry's grasp. "So that's how it is, is it? Perfect Saint Potter and the reformed Death Eater…do you want me to thank you or something?"

"That's not what I fucking meant!" Harry said desperately.

"Then what did you mean, Harry?" Draco asked quietly.

"Look, that isn't what I meant, okay? You're the one who's always saying stuff like that, not me."

Draco sat up, wincing with the movement, and Harry followed suit.

"You know why I say things like that?" Draco asked softly. Harry shrugged, looking at the floor. "Because," Draco continued, "it's what the world will think. And eventually, it's probably what you'll think as well."

Harry snorted derisively, drawing a sharp look from Draco. "Here we go again. You really must not think much of me, do you? Obviously, I was stupid to think that much had changed from our Hogwarts days. You really think I'd let the opinions of strangers, people I could care less about, affect how I feel about you? After all we've been through?"

Draco was silent for a moment, staring at his Dark Mark. "Remember back at the Manor, how easy it was for you to believe I'd been using you? All I had to do was say it and you believed it."

"Oh. My. God," Harry punctuated sharply. "You aren't honestly going to use that against me, are you? What the fuck was I supposed to think? And besides, wasn't that your goal? To make me believe the worst about you?"

Draco simply shrugged, clutching his left arm to his chest. "The point is…"

Harry groaned.

"The point is that that sort of thing comes all too easy for me…one day you'll see that. And you'll hate me for it."

"I'll never hate you, Draco," Harry said softly. "And I'm sorry you think so little of me."

"I don't," Draco whispered, still looking down.

Harry sighed. "Fuck. I don't even know why we're arguing about this."

"It's what we do best, apparently."

"I don't believe that."

Draco shrugged. "Suit yourself." He glanced up. "As for your original question, I think it's safe to say you wouldn't want to know."

"Well, obviously I do."

Draco snorted. "You know what? Whatever. You really want to know?" Harry nodded. "Fine. You know your precious Remus? Well, we had a little face-off at the Manor…you know, the day after we watched the werewolves burn that house down? Well, dear Remus informed me that you needed to leave the Manor, that he'd offered you a way out and you'd refused. Because of me. So, our former professor asked a favor of me…is it all coming together now? Or should I go on?"

Harry's eyes widened in horror and dawning realization. "No, he wouldn't…he told me he was looking for a way for you to get out…"

"Yeah, he knew a way for me to get out, all right," Draco said bitterly, brushing the hair out of his eyes with shaky fingers.

Still attempting to wrap his mind around Lupin's betrayal, Harry automatically reached for Draco, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face into his neck.

"You should have told me," Harry mumbled.

"There was nothing to tell."

"I just can't believe it…I trusted him."

Abruptly, Draco twisted away and sat up. Harry followed suit, confused.

"What?"

"How can you…" Draco shook his head before lowering it and he continued, staring at his lap. "Your parents were murdered, you were raised by insane Muggles, you've been jerked around by everyone since day one, and I don't know how many close-calls with death you've had over the years…" He raised his eyes and Harry was momentarily taken aback, the anguish present in those pale orbs far outshining any physical pain at the moment.

"What I'm asking," Draco went on shakily, "is how the fuck you can trust anyone after… after everything that's happened to you? Because that's not normal, Harry. You should be screwed up as all fuck."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Who says I'm not? You sure as hell can attest to the fact that I'm not perfect." He shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe my undying trust in people _is_ how I'm screwed up."

Sighing, Harry rested his head lightly on Draco's shoulder. He could feel the former Slytherin's heartbeat reverberate throughout his body.

"You should have told me about Lupin," Harry said softly. "Did you think I would be mad at you? For what he did?"

Draco remained silent for several seconds. "Didn't want to break your undying trust in yet another person," he mumbled finally, an obvious bitterness to his voice. "I find your naiveté rather appealing sometimes, believe it or not."

"I'm not that naïve," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "I just… choose to see things from another perspective. I try to see the good in people."

"You never saw it in me," Draco replied quietly, barely above a whisper.

Harry sat back up and ran a hand through his messy hair. "That's not fair."

Draco snorted and shook his head. "No, but it's history now, fair or not. No one ever saw anything other than what I showed them. You more than anyone. Don't you see…" he trailed off momentarily and Harry reached for his hand. Draco looked up, pain of another type flashing across his features. "Don't you get it, Harry? Don't you get how easy it would be for me to turn you away right now? To make you hate me all over again? I've already done it once. So what happens the next time another Lupin comes along? What the hell makes you think I won't hurt you again?"

Grey and green eyes stared intensely into each other for several moments, one pair pleading for an answer, the other searching desperately for the right one.

"Look," Harry said slowly, "I'm not perfect, and you're not perfect. We've both said and done a load of stupid shit over the years, but none of that matters now, alright? In the long run, I'm just as likely to hurt you as you are to hurt me. And guess what?" Harry gently gripped Draco's jaw. "I trust you. And… and maybe… maybe more."

Draco exhaled slowly through his nose and shifted his gaze to Harry's chest.

"Investing yourself in something that will inevitably fail is a bit of a masochistic move, Potter," Draco commented, attempting to sound blithe but coming across as rather morose. "Then again, it is your style."

Before Draco could continue, Harry leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips.

"Nothing in inevitable," Harry said, returning his head to its perch on Draco's shoulder. "Nothing."

"Whatever you say, Harry," Draco whispered. Avoiding Harry's eyes, he lay back down, carefully arranging his injured arm across his chest.

As much as Harry had wanted to hear about Lupin's betrayal, he felt absolutely no sense of satisfaction as he stretched out alongside Draco, still holding tightly to his hand. Draco didn't pull back but rather allowed his hand to sit limply in Harry's own.

"How's your arm?" Harry asked a few minutes later.

Draco didn't open his eyes. "Fan-fucking-tastic," he replied. Harry smiled slightly.

"Get some sleep, then. I'll be here when you wake up."

"I would," Draco mumbled, "if you'd quit talking to me."

"Sorry."

"Harry…"

"Shutting up now."

Harry lay with his eyes open for a long time, listening as Draco's breaths evened into sounds of sleep, thinking of their conversation – thinking of all it had implied. And all that it hadn't.

In spite of himself, Harry fell asleep for some time, for when he woke up, the sun was just barely shining through the thin fabric of their tent. He stretched alongside Draco, accidently bumping his leg slightly. Draco stirred, making a small noise as his eyes flew open.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled.

" 's okay," Draco murmured sleepily, tucking his head under Harry's chin. Harry smiled, running his fingers through his hair, tickling his scalp. Draco mumbled something incoherent, and next, Harry felt the warm, wet sensation of having his neck sucked on.

Harry moaned, unable to help himself, tilting his head back for easier access. Draco swung a leg over Harry, straddling him, his lips never leaving Harry's neck.

"Draco…" Harry groaned, unable to say anything else, his hands scrambling for purchase on Draco's back. Draco's lips briefly left his neck, only to be replaced by a crushing, sloppy kiss. Harry reached a hand up to lightly grip the back of Draco's neck, his other hand snaking under Draco's shirt to stroke over his chest and stomach.

"Harry…" Draco panted in turn, pulling back slightly. He settled against Harry's hips, his erection poised against Harry's stomach. Harry felt his own already hard cock give a twitch of anticipation, intensifying as Draco used his good hand to pull Harry's shirt up, attempting to remove it.

"Let me help you," Harry said huskily, quickly pulling his shirt off and throwing it to the side. He turned his attention to Draco, and together they removed Draco's shirt as well, along with his pants and boxers. Harry reached down, palming Draco's erection and causing him to moan wantonly, thrusting slightly against Harry's hand.

"You're wearing too many clothes, Potter," Draco managed to gasp, pulling away from Harry's roving hands. Harry couldn't have agreed more, and he hurriedly pushed his own remaining clothing off his hips, flinging it carelessly aside. Placing his hands on Draco's shoulders, he switched their positions, gently pushing Draco onto his back. Kissing him roughly, he trailed down his neck, tracing over his collarbone and nipples with his teeth. Running a hand down Draco's ribs, he frowned slightly, feeling how thin he still was.

"What?" Draco asked breathlessly, arousal obvious in his voice.

"Nothing," Harry said, kissing his mouth reassuringly. He turned his attention back to Draco's nipples, rubbing experimentally along Draco's inner thighs, tantalizingly close to his cock. Draco made a keening sound as Harry brushed against his balls, intensifying as Harry finally gripped his erection.

Unable to help himself, Harry moved down the length of Draco's body and took his cock into his mouth, working over it as he had last time. The taste wasn't pleasant, exactly, but seeing and hearing Draco as he completely unraveled because of what Harry was doing made it a moot point. This time, he knew exactly the right ways to suck and stroke, and it wasn't long before Draco was incessantly tapping him on the shoulder.

"Harry," Draco breathed desperately, thrusting slightly against Harry's mouth. "Harry, I'm going to…" he moaned loudly, and in the next moment Harry felt something sticky and salty coat the back of his throat. Attempting not to gag, he played it off by coughing into his hand.

Draco's eyes widened, but he said nothing, and in the next moment their positions were reversed, with Draco leaning between Harry's parted thighs, and Harry nearly lost it when he felt Draco's warm mouth encircle him. Now he knew why _this_ caused Draco to come apart to easily, why it caused him to lose the control he so prided himself on. Harry panted sharply as Draco took him in further, as his tongue swirled over him.

"Draco!" Harry moaned warningly, feeling himself poised on the edge. Draco pulled away, a hand replacing his mouth, and Harry's fingers dug into the sheets as he came into Draco's hand.

Both breathing heavily at the intensity of their experience, they smiled idiotically at each other as they each rolled onto their sides, lying face to face.

"You want to know something funny?" Draco asked after a moment, his good arm slung around Harry.

Leaning his forehead against Draco's, Harry murmured, "What?"

"Granger or Weasley could have walked in at any time. They've done it before, you know."

Harry smirked, although he was slightly horrified at the prospect of Ron walking in at such a moment. "I guess they'd learn to knock, then."

Draco smiled, kissing Harry softly. "Yeah."

"Maybe we should put some clothes on – go see if Hermione's found anything in that book. And get something to eat, I'm starved."

"Yeah," Draco agreed. Neither moved, save for Draco snuggling closer and giving a contented sigh. And quite honestly, Harry wasn't crazy about moving either.

"How's your arm?" Harry asked quietly, tracing a finger along Draco's cheek.

Draco shivered slightly. "It's fine, Harry."

"Draco?"

"Yes, Harry."

"Just because Lupin couldn't earn your trust, it's no reason not to trust. Because…I meant what I said earlier."

Draco sighed. "I know you did." He stroked softly along Harry's spine. "I trust you, Harry," he whispered. "You're the only person I _do _trust."

Unsure of what to say, Harry kissed him again, then gently untangled himself from Draco.

"We should probably get dressed," Harry said reluctantly.

Draco shrugged. "Whatever. Or we could go like this." He smirked as he sat up. "I haven't seen Weasley freak out in at least a few hours."

"Or we could get dressed," Harry replied with a roll of his eyes.

When they eventually emerged, Ron and Hermione were sitting outside near the campfire, the latter bent over with a frying pan, the scent of baking meat wafting up in savory fumes around her.

"Hello, boys," Hermione greeted, glancing up.

"Cooking me dinner?" Draco asked, sitting down beside her and smiling slightly. "Never knew you were so domestic, Granger."

Harry grinned as he plopped down on the other side of Ron.

"It's not like it's hard," Hermione sniffed. "Besides, I wasn't about to let Ron do it. I value my life too much."

"Oy!" Ron cried, reddening and looking rather offended.

"That makes two of us," Draco added sincerely.

Harry patted Ron on the back. "Don't worry, Ron. I'd eat your cooking."

Ron eyes grew wide. "You would?"

"Yeah," Harry laughed, "I'd just make sure to have a bezoar handy."

No sooner had the words left his mouth, did Harry realize exactly how not funny that was, given the present company. Harry glanced at Draco who was now staring broodingly at the fire.

"Thanks, Harry…" Ron mumbled, growing redder. Glancing at Harry, his eyes widened suddenly with a look of horror.

"What?"

Ron pointed at his own neck, his blush increasing. "Umm, Harry…"

Harry's hands flew to his neck, just as Draco burst out laughing. "What's the matter, Weasley? Never seen a hickey before?" Draco bared his own neck unabashedly, which, sure enough, was rife with bite marks.

"Yeah, I've seen one!" Ron protested vehemently, looking redder than his hair. "But that's…that's more than just a hickey! And I don't want to know what you and Harry…oh god…"

"Ah hem," Hermione interrupted, clearing her throat rather loudly. "The food is ready."

Draco shot Ron a triumphant smirk. Ron groaned and looked away.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "In all seriousness, you two, there are spells that can get rid of those marks, you know. Honestly."

Draco smirked. "I'm sure you know plenty about those spells, right Granger?"

"I'm not dignifying that with an answer," Hermione sniffed indignantly, forking food onto her plate. "Let's just say, I like to keep my private life private. Unlike some…"

"Okay!" Harry cut in, fighting off his own embarrassment. "We forgot, okay? Can we drop it now?"

"Weasley started it," Draco said with a satisfied smirk. "And I didn't forget. It was just too beautiful an opportunity to pass up."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Git." Draco grinned in return, moving to fill his own plate.

"Did you find anything interesting in that book?" Harry asked Hermione a few minutes later, after stuffing several sausages hungrily in his mouth.

Hermione shot him a disgusted look and Harry hurriedly swallowed. "Well?" he persisted.

"That depends on how you define interesting, I suppose," Hermione answered. Beside her, Draco had looked up.

"Is there anything about Horcruxes in there?" Draco asked quietly.

Hermione shook her head slowly. "Not… exactly. There are several places where the author seems like he's going to mention them, but then he changes the subject. It's rather frustrating."

Ron snorted in the midst of taking a giant mouthful of food. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him briefly before continuing.

"But there are definitely spells and curses that could come in useful." She shrugged uncomfortably. "You know, if we have no other choice."

"Like what?" Harry said, not entirely sure he wanted to know.

Ron made a whining sound in his throat and Draco shot him an annoyed glance.

"Oh, grow a pair already, Weasley," Draco sneered.

"Here's an interesting one," Hermione said loudly, flipping open the ancient-looking book. "Betrayed Lover's Retribution, it's called. _This potent love potion is disguised to look and taste like your morning glass of pumpkin juice. Once swallowed, the victim will fall instantly in love with whomever, or whatever, they see first_."

"That doesn't sound that awful," Harry interrupted, frowning.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Let me finish. _Over the course of several days, the victim will grow further and further removed from the world as their obsession with their new beloved grows. Meanwhile, said victim's heart will slowly and painfully dissolve from the inside out. Within seven days, eleven hours, and forty-three minutes of ingestion, this potion guarantees the complete liquidation of your former lover's heart_."

"Charming," Draco commented, taking another small bite of his dinner.

"Bloody hell." Ron set down his plate. Harry noticed he looked a bit green. "You don't think Lav… anyone's ex would actually do that, do you?"

Hermione smirked without looking up. "No, Ronald. I do not think Lavender would do that to you."

"Oh," Ron sputtered, "yeah, um, yeah, good."

"Could I look at it for a bit?" Draco asked suddenly. "If you're done with it, Granger."

As Hermione nodded and immediately handed the book over to Draco, Harry told himself that the queasy feeling in his gut had absolutely nothing to do with the current situation. For Draco to read that book would be no more or less harmful than Hermione reading it. Right?

"I'll be in a little while," Harry said as Draco slowly stood, clutching the book in one arm, the other securely pressed against his chest as usual.

"Don't stay up too late chatting with your friends," Draco joked with a smirk.

Harry smiled half-heartedly in return and watched silently as Draco made his way back to the tent.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, gently touching his arm.

Harry blinked. "I'm fine," he said, pushing away his doubt and returning his attention to his meal. But he wasn't entirely sure he was.

**Review, please? Maybe?**


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! Sorry it took so long for this chapter to be up! ENJOY!

**Chapter Twenty **

Draco flipped through the book, studying the pages with a mixture of revulsion and fascination. He couldn't deny he was drawn to the various Dark spells and the gruesome deaths which they promised – much like people are drawn to accidents and other reminders of their own mortality.

"The Memento Mori curse," he murmured to himself, his finger tracing over a particularly interesting spell. _Ideal for enemies and betrayers. Causes an obsessive fear of death by day, accompanied by the actual sensation of dying each night, in every way the victim fears most of all. Ultimately results in insanity. _

"Find anything interesting?"

Draco jumped, startled slightly. "God, Harry. Don't sneak up on me like that."

Harry shrugged, closing the tent flap behind him and sitting across from Draco. "Well, did you?"

Draco closed the book, pushing it to the side. "It depends on what you define as interesting – it's certainly creative, I'll give it that." He studied Harry closely, noting the slight frown furrowing his brow.

Draco sighed. "What?"

Harry blinked. "Nothing."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're obviously brooding about something, Potter. And using my brilliant powers of deduction, I'd say it's probably this book. But oddly enough, you didn't seem terribly bothered by Granger reading it, which leads me to believe that the problem must be that I'm the one reading it…"

"No, that's not it!" Harry insisted, appearing agitated. "And I _don't _brood."

"Right," Draco snorted, glancing back down to the current page.

Harry flopped onto his back and let out such an explosive sigh that Draco could faintly feel the rush of air from where he sat. Draco bit back a smile.

"Um, Potter," he started casually, "if what you're doing isn't brooding, then, pray tell, what is it?"

Harry sighed again. "I'm not brooding. I'm thinking."

"That truly is something unusual for you."

A pillow smacked softly into Draco's head a moment later and he grinned before carelessly tossing it back.

"Ha ha," Harry said, easily catching the pillow, smiling himself. It quickly faded however, and they withdrew into respective silences.

They sat like that for several minutes, Draco reading, and Harry "not brooding" But Draco, distracted by Harry's tightly wound presence, found concentrating on the many intricate and often deplorable Dark arts considerably more difficult than before.

Laying the book aside, he settled onto his back as well and stared up at the tent's ceiling.

It shouldn't bother him, Draco told himself firmly, it was obviously to be expected. Harry had trusted Ron and Hermione since they were eleven, had entrusted everything and more to them more times than he could probably count. Draco… well, Draco had entertained Harry's confidences for all of several weeks now, and with reservations on both their parts at that.

_I wouldn't trust me either_, Draco thought darkly, _so I shouldn't expect Harry to_.

Draco's Dark Mark suddenly burned rather badly and he winced, automatically hugging it closer to his chest.

"Draco," Harry said softly. The tone of his voice sent shivers down Draco's spine. Even as he turned to Harry, he knew what to expect and was unsurprised to see him clutching a hand to his forehead.

"What is it?" Draco asked urgently, propping himself up.

Harry licked his lips and took several seconds to answer. Draco noticed his normally bright green eyes seemed vague and distant, and only once they had slid back into focus did Harry respond.

"He's not trying… he's not trying to invade my mind," Harry explained slowly, as if struggling to maintain his attention on what he was saying. Draco gritted his teeth. He hated this.

Harry haltingly continued. "I think… he wants me to see things sometimes… Like right now…" His gaze slid out of focus again, but Draco wasn't entirely sure Harry hadn't allowed it this time. He took the brief few seconds and called loudly for Hermione and Ron.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione murmured as she and Ron arrived seconds later at the entrance. They both dropped to their knees around Harry's still form, barely daring to breathe.

"Is he fighting off You-Know-Who?" Ron asked, his face very pale. For a moment, as that was all he could afford currently, Draco felt a twinge of regret for always being so awful to Ron who, despite his shortcomings, really did care deeply for Harry.

Draco shook his head, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "No. Something else is going on. I'm not sure…"

He trailed off as Harry's unseeing gaze snapped away, leaving him bright-eyed once more.

"Oh my god," Harry exclaimed, sitting up quickly and raking his hands over his face. "Oh my god." He was breathing rapidly and a slew of emotions danced across his face. And strangely Draco, normally so adept at reading Harry's expressive features, wasn't sure what to make of them.

"Harry, what is it?" Hermione asked. She placed a hand on Harry's shoulder which he jerked away from, a slight choking sound coming from his throat. Her eyes widened. "Harry?'

He looked up, not at Hermione, but Draco instead.

"I never thought about it," Harry began, almost imploringly. "I… I just assumed it was one of them, you know? Never… not someone…"

Frowning, Draco leaned forward and grasped Harry's hand. Harry began to pull back, but Draco squeezed insistently and his attempt relaxed marginally .

"What did he show you, Harry?" Draco asked slowly, realizing whatever had upset Harry this badly needed to be known by all of them. The last time this had happened, this badly at least, none of them had pushed Harry for an explanation. Draco wouldn't let that stand this time.

"The Polyjuice Potion," Harry said, swallowing. "I saw… well, at first I wasn't sure what I was seeing, because I was seeing _me_. But then I realized I was seeing the Death Eater who had Polyjuiced as me, doing it again. Only this time… He - I - attacked a group of Aurors, right in broad daylight in Diagon Alley."

Hermione's soft intake of breath was the only sound as they all waited for Harry to continue. Draco was already rather sure, however, that he didn't want to hear the rest.

"They killed him…me, that is…," Harry went on in a strained whisper. "It wasn't even one of the Aurors who did it, just some wizard on the street. I… I think I recognized him from one of the shops…"

"Who was it?"

Draco closed his eyes briefly as Ron unabashedly voiced the question he and Hermione had been too afraid to utter. Those who underwent a Polyjuice transformation resumed their true forms after two events only: one was the passing of time, and the other, death. Harry's grip tightened, almost painfully so, and Draco blinked.

When Harry spoke, his voice was no longer a whisper. "Dean Thomas," he said flatly, staring into Draco's eyes. "Dean is dead. Because of me."

Hermione drew in a harsh breath; Ron paled dramatically, his freckles the only source of pigment. Draco, however, hoped that neither of them were looking too closely at him, and guiltily averted his gaze from Harry's.

"Harry," Hermione said in a sensible tone, though her voice trembled slightly. "You should think about this. You said yourself that Voldemort often shows you things that aren't true…"

Harry made a sob-like sound, though his eyes remained dry and fierce. "This was real, Hermione. Don't ask me how…I just _know…" _his voice trailed off, and he clutched his knees to his chest, looking miserable.

"Hermione," Ron said softly, giving Harry's arm a careful squeeze. "Do you still have that newspaper you charmed?"

Hermione blinked. "Yes, of course I do. But we won't know anything tonight, of course."

"What are you talking about, Granger?" Draco asked, frowning. He sidled closer to Harry, who automatically reached for his hand as if clutching a lifeline. Draco sighed, absently rubbing his thumb along Harry's knuckles.

"Oh," Hermione said, self-consciously brushing a frizzed strand of hair out of her face. She cleared her throat, looking at Harry imploringly. "I should have told you this before, Harry, but I didn't want to upset you for no reason…" she gave Ron a pointed look, as if to emphasize that statement. "Back when you were at the Manor, I charmed a copy of the Daily Prophet to update itself on a daily basis. That way, even if Ron and I were here in the woods for weeks or even months, we'd have a means of knowing the current events. Or rumors," she added darkly. "Harry, I didn't want you to have to think about it, what with everything else going on…but this isn't the first public attack your impersonator has perpetrated."

"I know that, Hermione," Harry said quietly. He scowled slightly. "You should have told me about the newspaper. What, do you think I'm so fragile that I'll just break apart when something unpleasant happens? I had a right to _know_, Hermione." He gulped, then raised his eyes to meet Hermione's. "You had no right to keep that from me," he whispered, his expression darkening.

Hermione's lower lip trembled slightly, as if she were close to tears, but she held his gaze unflinchingly. "I know you're not fragile, Harry!" she said desperately. "Anyone who's been through everything you've been through and survived, couldn't be!" she sniffed, her eyes watering slightly. "But I do know how you blame yourself about things - see, you're doing it now! - and showing you things that you might blame yourself for, but could do nothing about…it would have hurt you unnecessarily. Ron and I just wanted to help you, take some of the burden off your shoulders, don't you see that?"

Harry didn't answer, and Draco knew him well enough to know that his anger towards Hermione was just a ruse, meant to disguise the guilt and anger towards himself which Draco could practically feel roiling off Harry. It startled him slightly, in that instant, to realize that in some ways, he knew Harry on a deeper level than his childhood friends. Sure, they knew all the stories, all the inane facts such as Harry's favorite dessert, but Draco knew _Harry_ perhaps better than they ever would. This realization filled Draco with an unexpected elation, and did much to alleviate his own guilt, currently coiled about in his gut.

"Just leave it," Draco snapped at Ron, just as he opened his mouth to speak. Then, remembering his earlier observation of Ron's true caring for Harry, he sighed in resignation. "Not right now, Weasley," he said in as civil a tone as he could muster, considering it was a Weasley he was talking to. Ron, whose face had flushed instantly red upon Draco's first hasty remark, seemed to calm abruptly, nodding warily at Draco.

"Harry…" Hermione began, a pleading tone in her voice. "I really am sorry…I just wanted to help."

Draco shook his head at her, wrapping an arm possessively around Harry's shoulders. He needed to talk to Harry alone for a moment and then…and then he needed to see that newspaper for himself, not only for Harry's sake, but for his as well. After all, there could be news of his parents.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron said, surprisingly. He rose to his feet, extending a hand for Hermione, who followed reluctantly, even as she gave Harry a last sad look.

"Much as it pains me to say this," Draco began after Ron and Hermione had left. "I really think they were just trying to help."

"I know," Harry said softly, unmoving in Draco's grasp. "But that's not really why…I just needed them to leave. They wouldn't understand why."

"I know," Draco said firmly, his grip tightening around Harry's shoulders, silently communicating how much _he _did understand. Draco sighed. "I suppose you've already figured out a way to blame this one on yourself, Harry?"

Harry snorted, pulling away slightly, but Draco held on steadfast. "Do you really think you have that much control over everything?"

Harry sagged against Draco, something like a sob causing him to choke. "That's not it, either," he managed to gasp. He twisted in Draco's arms, his eyes meeting Draco's pleadingly.

"They thought it was me, Draco!" Harry choked. "The last thing Dean knew before he died was that it was because of me. And he thought…he thought…" Harry's breathing was erratic, and for a moment Draco feared he would begin hyperventilating.

"He thought what, Harry?" Draco murmured, deftly reaching forward to remove Harry's glasses. Harry blinked at him in surprise for a moment, but then when Draco pulled him tightly against his chest, he gave a small sound of relief.

"Dean thought I hated him," Harry whispered. "But it was worse than that. If I had hated him, at least I would have paid attention to him, would have enjoyed making him angry. But instead…I practically stole his girlfriend from him, right out in public. I didn't care that he stormed off and wouldn't talk to me for the rest of the year. All that mattered was Ginny, and I didn't even notice that I'd treated one of my housemates, someone who counted me as a friend, like shit."

He ignored the small stab of jealousy which Ginny's name provoked, which was utterly irrational, Draco knew now. After all, it was him, not Ginny Weasley, who was currently holding a distraught Harry Potter in his arms.

"I'm sure he knew you didn't hate him," Draco said carefully, resting his chin on Harry's head. "And you didn't _steal_ anyone, Harry. Unless you think that people are things that can be possessed?"

"No," Harry said against his chest. "But it doesn't change the fact that I didn't care about his feelings at all, and that he died believing I betrayed him."

Draco's questioning gaze was enough to compel Harry to continue.

"For all I know…" Harry gulped in a breath, "Dean thought I hated him, that I cared nothing about him. He probably knew I'd disappeared, and… and then he was captured and Imperiused to parade around looking like me, torturing, and killing… all the while knowing I had to be nearby for the potion. That every time he drank it, I was betraying him by providing the final ingredient…"

"He didn't," Draco said, the words catching painfully in his throat. Harry might hate him for what he was going to say next, but he had the right to know. "Dean Thomas was captured a couple of weeks after you, along with others…I don't know all of their names. But he knew you were there, Harry. He knew you were a prisoner like him, so he couldn't possibly blame you."

"You knew?" Harry's voice was clipped with rage, yet he still didn't attempt to break free from Draco.

"Yes," Draco said, bowing his head slightly. "It wasn't as if I could do anything, Harry! You know that…"

Harry gave a shuddering breath. "You should have told me," he said accusingly. "How many others were there?"

"Altogether? Dozens and dozens. But not just from Hogwarts…there were kids taken from Muggle schools that he liked to practice the Imperius curse on to make them kill each other…new curses he tried out on Mu-Muggle-borns he brought in…" he trailed off, shaking slightly at the sudden onslaught of memories. "What could I have done?" he asked desperately.

Harry still didn't lift his head. "Nothing," he conceded. "They would have killed you, and you couldn't leave, not with your Mark. I don't blame you." He finished in a hollow voice, continuing to stare at the ground.

Draco closed his eyes briefly. He tried to attribute the aching feeling in his chest to anything other than the veiled emotions he'd heard in Harry's voice just then. Only it wasn't working very well.

"Maybe you should blame me," Draco spoke moments later, taking a deep breath, suddenly quite determined. "I could have told you, Harry. I could have told Lupin for that matter. I could've had Kreacher free them just as easily, couldn't I? So why shouldn't I be to blame?"

"No," Harry whispered, though it came out sounding precariously like a moan. He shook his head. "No, it's my fault. This whole war…"

Draco snorted indignantly. "Right. Because if you would've just finished _him _off when you were a baby, Harry. If you'd had a little more constitution back then."

"Stop it!" Harry snarled, struggling free of Draco's arms. Draco released him reluctantly, but forced his face into a neutral mask.

"No, _you _stop, Potter. Harry-fucking-Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, savior of the entire bloody world," Draco allowed his voice to raise considerably. "You are not to blame for every fucking thing that goes on, you know. Every kitten that gets caught in a tree, every limb that gets severed, and yes, every schoolmate that dies, is not your fault!"

"The fuck it's not!" Harry snapped in return. He finally looked up and his eyes were blazing. Draco withheld the choked feeling that gave him, knowing the fury in those eyes, currently Harry's own self-loathing, would shortly be transferred to him. It was all for the best.

"Oh, get over yourself already, Harry!" Draco urged him on, crossing his arms. "Those kids in the Manor were more my responsibility than they were ever yours! I knew about them. I watched them get tortured and maimed and killed." He lowered his voice. "I even participated, you know. What the Dark Lord made you do while you were there was nothing, Harry. _Nothing_." Draco shuddered, disgusted with himself as the too-fresh memories blossomed behind his eyes. He forced them away. "You haven't asked, and I haven't told you. Just like I didn't tell about those kids. And guess what? I left them behind, knowing what would happen, and now they're probably all dead, or worse. Dean may have been one of the lucky ones. So tell me, really, who's to blame?"

Harry shook his head back and forth, very slowly, his gaze focused entirely elsewhere. When he spoke, a few moments later, his voice was barely audible.

"I hate that you do this," Harry said fervently, the passion in his voice all the more intense with the softness.

Draco frowned.

"I hate that you can shove me around by… by doing _that_."

How had his ploy not worked? Harry's emotions, particularly his anger, were always so close to the surface that drawing them out should've been no problem. Why then, did he simply sound sad?

"Doing what?" Draco asked, feigning confusion and perhaps a bit of indignant anger. "Telling the truth?"

Harry sighed. "Yes," he replied wearily, dropping his head into his hands. "Yes, telling the truth."

Draco almost released a relieved sigh of his own, knowing Harry had taken the bait. If he could find someone else to blame, or at least share in it, then perhaps he wouldn't keep hating himself quite so much.

_Only who is it he hates now? _a small voice in Draco's head taunted him.

"But that's not what I hate, Draco. Not that you tell me the truth," Harry continued suddenly, pausing Draco cold in his own line of thoughts. "What I hate is that you think you can tell me these things, these horrible truths about yourself, and think I'll run screaming for the hills."

Draco blinked and abruptly shook his head. "No, Harry, that's stupid. You _should _run screaming. How could you possibly bear to be around someone like me when…" his voice trailed into a whisper almost of its own accord. "…when you're so much better?"

When no reply came, Draco risked looking up and found Harry staring at him. He itched with all his might to look away, yet found himself unable.

"Alright, is this what you want to hear?" Harry asked in a strained voice. "It sickens me. It disgusts me. It makes me want to vomit."

Draco flinched with each word out of Harry's mouth. He looked down and studied his pulsing, blackened arm with a detached air.

"Not you, you idiot," Harry said, a note of exasperation present in his tone now. Draco felt his chin lifted and he stared at Harry in surprise.

"What was done _to _you, you git. Not by you. What was done to Dean and those kids, and… and to me. All of it makes me want to curl into a ball, go to sleep, and never wake up again."

Draco licked his lips nervously. "But - "

"But what?" Harry murmured, resting his forehead on Draco's shoulder and relaxing into him. "That may have worked before, trying to rile me up like that. But I know you now, and I'm really not that stupid."

Recognizing his own words from not so long ago, Draco smiled slightly as he dropped his chin against Harry's head.

"No, you're not." He sighed. "And I wouldn't keep doing that without a good reason, you know. Blaming yourself for everything under the sun, for instance."

Harry stiffened slightly but didn't pull back. "Yeah, I know. I get it, I really do. There are slightly more direct, slightly less painful ways you could go about it, however."

"Sure," Draco sniffed, drooping his arms across Harry's back. "In other words, the more-Gryffindor, less-Slytherin approach?"

"Exactly," Harry sounded as if he were smiling slightly as well. "For example, you could say, Harry, you're being a self-righteous git who thinks the world revolves around you - knock it off."

Draco murmured his assent. He then rolled his eyes as he noticed Ron peeking tentatively inside the tent, his face already coloring several shades of red.

"Yes?" Draco snapped, annoyed by the interruption.

Ron cleared his throat and Draco could feel Harry smiling against his shoulder.

"What is it, Ron?" Harry asked softly, raising his head.

Ron shuffled his feet, looking nervous. "Well, um, it's for Malfoy, really. Um, we got an owl…Hermione thought it might have something to do w-with your parents…"

Ever since leaving the Manor, Draco had told himself that any news of his parents would be good news, until he knew otherwise, and that he would be overjoyed to hear of it. Yet now, presented with the option for the first time, he found himself unable to move.

"Draco," Harry said, squeezing his hands tightly, "are you alright?"

Draco took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Ron cleared his throat again, and Draco glanced up with a scowl.

"I'll just be outside," Ron muttered with a shake of his head.

"Come on," Harry said suddenly. He swiftly stood, pulling Draco up alongside him and offering a grim smile. Draco raised his eyebrows in return.

"I guess it's my turn to push you around," Harry said lightly.

Beside the low-burning campfire outside, Hermione was bent far over reading, Ron at her side, so involved that she barely noticed Draco and Harry's approach.

"Here," she said, shoving a parchment into Draco's arms as soon as he was seated. She tapped her finger energetically on the letter. "Read this!"

Swallowing nervously, Draco began to read. And immediately looked back up.

"Granger," he said slowly, "this is from some sap pining for their lost lover. It couldn't possibly be from my parents."

"No, no, no," Hermione tapped her finger on it again, "just read, alright?"

Shaking his head incredulously, Draco refocused his gaze on the words once more.

_**In Search of a Lost Love…**_

_We parted amidst a whirlwind of confusion and heartache. Oh, my love, you are like a drop of liquid fire from a dragon's eye, whisked away on the heart of a knight. Word nor will can reach you now. Yet know the one who bore you 'till now, yearns and aches to glimpse your pale face once more. The shrine that forebears all holds the light reflected in the looking glass of old - look to the dimmest hour and behold._

Draco blinked. He raised his head and nodded to Harry who quickly skimmed over the letter himself. When he was finished, he looked even more confused than Draco felt.

"Um, Hermione," Harry asked, "what exactly makes you think this has anything to do with Draco or his parents?"

Hermione pursed her lips and looked imploringly to Draco for a moment before rolling her eyes.

"Oh, honestly, it's not that difficult." She snatched the paper back from Harry. "Okay, look," Hermione explained, pointing at words as she went along. "It starts 'we parted amidst a whirlwind of confusion and heartache'. Draco, you said your father helped you when you got Harry's wand back, so of course he would be confused about your new allegiances and all that went on when we escaped. I imagine you get understand the reference to dragons and then, of course, the knight means Harry."

Draco nodded slowly, realization dawning on him even as she continued to speak.

"Wait, how am I a knight?" Harry piped in.

"Because a knight could also be a protector, a liberator, or a savior," Draco replied quickly, earning him a winning smile from Hermione.

"Right!" she said. "Then it says, 'word nor will can reach you now', which obviously refers to your Dark Mark and how you've somehow managed to mask it, and of course 'one who bore you 'till now' is one of both of your parents. So, you see, it makes perfect sense!"

Harry frowned and looked down at the message again. "What about the last part, about the shrine and the looking glass?"

"It's a saying from one of our ancestry trees," Draco replied softly. "There's no particular reason or meaning for it, though."

"But only a Malfoy would recognize it, right?" Hermione asked, peering at him with an odd glint in her eyes. Draco nodded quickly and looked down.

"Draco?" Harry asked cautiously, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. Draco shook his head, willing his thoughts to calm.

"It's from my father. It has to be. And he couldn't just come out and say 'meet me here,' of course."

"Because it could have been intercepted," Harry finished gravely.

Ron's eyes widened. "Wait a minute, Malfoy. You aren't seriously considering going to meet him, are you? Because it could be a trick, something to capture Harry all over again."

Draco drew in a breath, maintaining a calm façade despite a very real inclination to punch Ron in the face.

"No, Weasley. Of course I'm not. And even if I did, it's not as if I'd be stupid enough to bring Harry along."

"The fuck you wouldn't," Harry said angrily, scowling at Draco. "If you think I'd let you go alone…"

"Well, it doesn't matter, does it?" Draco snapped, a matching scowl sliding over his features. "Because I'm not going."

Hermione frowned thoughtfully, as was usually the precursor to a declaration of righteous indignation, or to tell someone they were being stupid. Draco assumed it was the latter, and wasn't disappointed.

"Draco," Hermione said in a sensible tone. "I understand if you're nervous about going, but of course we'd take every precaution. We can even stake the area out first, make sure it's not a trap…"

"He's my _father_," Draco said sharply. "He wouldn't _trap _me, or hurt me, so fuck off." Hermione flinched visibly, her mouth opening as if to give an apology. "I'm not going because I don't know what the fuck he's talking about, okay? I have no idea where he wants to meet, or when."

Ron put a hand on Hermione's shoulder, looking surprisingly composed in spite of Draco's railings. "I don't think she meant it like that, mate. I think she's just afraid that someone could have written posing as your father, or maybe…" he gulped, averting his eyes from Draco's. "Maybe he was forced to write it, I don't know."

Draco shuddered at the thought of his father being coerced by torture or worse, but shook his head at Harry's look of concern. He would _not_, under any circumstances let a Weasley see him burst into tears or something equally undignified. His father would have been horrified at the thought.

But he could walk away, shrugging off Harry's shouts of concern, and return to the tent. Harry would follow him, surely, and that was alright. He only needed a moment.

Quickly, before Harry could return, and he'd heard Hermione talking to him, so he knew he had the time, he used a slicing spell to reopen the wound on his hand, grimacing slightly as a straight crimson line appeared down his palm. He hastily swiped his palm over the letter, and was pleased to see the Malfoy crest appear. Smiling, he tucked the letter into his pocket, breathing a sigh of relief. It _was_ from his father, for only a Malfoy by blood could invoke that particular blood magic. Even Narcissa couldn't have managed it. And Draco was absolutely convinced it had been written of his free will, without coercion; for one thing, no one coerced Lucius Malfoy, and secondly, blood magic of this kind was impossible to command, not to mention a mere half-blood such as Voldemort was predictably ignorant of such customs.

"Draco."

Draco jumped in spite of himself, whirling around to face Harry. Harry frowned slightly, then sat cross-legged beside him.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked softly, his hand softly kneading the back of Draco's neck. Draco leaned into the touch in spite of himself, in spite of the niggling feeling of guilt. He hated lying to Harry. Yet, at the same time it was necessary. He would not put Harry in danger, it was that simple. As much as Draco trusted his father not to harm him, he wasn't naïve or foolish enough to assume the same rules applied to Harry.

"I'm fine," Draco said simply, shifting so that he could rest his head on Harry's shoulder. "Just a bit tired. Pathetic, really, considering I slept so much today."

"I'm tired, too," Harry admitted, idly running his fingers through Draco's hair. "Just in general. Nothing to do with sleep."

Draco raised his head from Harry's shoulder, and cupping Harry's cheek with one hand, kissed him gently. Harry kissed back, his arms sliding to wrap around Draco's shoulders.

"Come on," Harry said softly after a moment, pulling Draco gently into bed and cradling him against his chest, carefully avoiding his left arm. "Let's get some sleep."

Draco made a murmur of acquiesce, rolling off Harry so that their limbs no longer intertwined, but close enough that his hair brushed into Harry's.

Harry's breaths leveled off after a few minutes, indicating he was asleep. Draco, however, lay wide awake, occasionally casting a Tempus spell to check the time. Then, at exactly midnight, he put on his shoes, slung on his robes, and Disapparated.

* * *

The Malfoy ancestral home, while perhaps at one time having been magnificent, was now nothing more than some runes spread around a cave in northern France, and to a non-Malfoy appeared as flat rock. To a Muggle, it appeared to be a cliff. The Malfoys had always been a proud family, but their wealth was actually quite recent, within the last three-hundred years. Other pureblooded families, such as the Blacks, had been affluent for over a thousand years.

Draco stepped inside the cave, feeling a slight tingle as the runes accepted him as a Malfoy.

"You're late, Draco," Lucius Malfoy said softly, slightly obscured by shadow. He stepped forward, flicking his wand to cast light about them. Draco studied his father, noting the harsh draw to his features, the pronounced shadows under his eyes, and the fact that he leaned more heavily than ever on his cane.

"I'm sorry, sir," Draco said in the respectful tone that had been ingrained in him since birth for addressing his father. "I had to Apparate twice…I didn't think I'd make it all at once."

Lucius nodded distractedly. "No matter. There is much to discuss, and precious little time."

A horrible thought suddenly struck Draco. "Father, he can find where you are, can't he? What if he wants to find you and…"

Lucius smiled coldly. "Not to worry, Draco. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be." He nodded at the rune circle. "Only a Malfoy can access our ancestral home, and only a Malfoy can find him the object he desires. He wishes to make more Horcruxes, you see, but he's rather particular about the objects he uses. They must contain significance…"

Draco's composure slipped, his mouth undoubtedly hanging open.

Lucius frowned. "Close your mouth, Draco. It makes you look common."

Draco closed his mouth. "Father…"

"You really must learn to control your emotions, Draco. Your face is much to easy to read," he mused softly, running his fingers over the snake end of his staff. "Enemies will use that to their advantage. Now, as you've confirmed to me, you know of the Horcruxes, am I right? Which of course, means Potter told you." A feral smile twisted Lucius's lips, an almost dreamy expression flitting across his face. "Ah, the Dark Lord does have a tendency to underestimate, does he not? He underestimated you, he underestimated Lily Potter's love for her son…and he underestimated how much that old fool, Dumbledore, really knew. That will be his downfall, you know. Overconfidence."

Draco's head was reeling. "You're not going to tell him?"

Lucius's expression sobered slightly. "You're my son. And we're Malfoys - ultimately, I'm concerned with our survival. Not Potter's, not the Dark Lord's. I made a mistake in joining with him, Draco. A Malfoy should never be forced to grovel to some half-blood, should never be forced to surrender his home, watch his son be tortured…" a flicker of raw emotion flashed across Lucius's face, but was gone so quickly it was barely discernable.

"We cannot allow him to win," Lucius said softly. "We simply cannot."

Draco nodded. "What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly. "If he makes more Horcruxes, we'll never defeat him."

Lucius smiled again, his eyes glittering maliciously. "He won't make more. You see, I plan on using his overconfidence and ignorance against him. And in the meantime…" Lucius handed a piece of paper to Draco.

"What's this?" Draco asked, squinting at what appeared to be an address.

"The location of the Hufflepuff cup. It's Unplottable, currently, and heavily guarded by…oh, you could call them old fans."

Draco shuddered slightly as he realized what his father's words implied. According to the address, the cup lay somewhere within the graveyard in Godric's Hollow; he could only imagine who, or rather what, would be keeping guard there.

"Thank you, Father," Draco said softly.

Lucius nodded curtly. "See that you put this knowledge to your advantage, Draco. I expect you to act as soon as possible."

"Should I contact you to tell you when it's done?" Draco blurted out. He abruptly flushed at Lucius' frown.

"Don't be absurd. Contacting me, even through the werewolf, was extremely dangerous for your mother and I." Lucius softened his voice ever so slightly. "And for you, as well. In the future, only I will send messages of our meetings. Do not seek me out under any circumstances, Draco. Is that understood?"

Feeling as he often did around his father, as if he were once again a child of five being scolded for misbehavior, Draco nodded quickly and murmured his assent.

Lucius smiled grimly and he paused to sweep his gaze over his son. Draco noticed his eyes linger for a long moment on his left arm, but he said nothing.

"You seem as well as can be expected," Lucius spoke, fixing his sight once more on Draco's face. "Although, for your mother's sake if nothing else, perhaps you would work to improve your health slightly before our next meeting."

Draco winced slightly. He knew he looked awful, but hearing his father remind him of the fact only reinforced the idea further. "I'm sorry, sir," he apologized quietly; excuses were only ever lost on Lucius Malfoy so he didn't bother. "I'll do my best."

A flash of unfamiliar warmth passed over Lucius' features, vanishing as swiftly as it had arrived. Draco blinked.

"How is Mother?" he decided to ask then, sure Lucius would want to leave soon, also sure he needed to know this before that happened.

Lucius smoothed his expression into a neutral mask upon the mention of Narcissa. "She, also, is holding up with the dignity and pride befitting of a Malfoy, despite circumstances being as they are." Lucius paused, seeming to debate whether to say what he did next. "And she is constantly sick with worry over you. Sometimes…" he cleared his throat. "Sometimes she forgets herself, around certain people."

Draco breathed slowly and stared at the ground for a moment, gathering his emotions behind a wall of his own.

"Perhaps you could exaggerate slightly," Draco suggested, struggling to keep his voice from breaking, "when you tell her how I am doing. Then she won't have to worry as much."

Lucius nodded curtly. "Perhaps," he replied in a disinterested voice. Behind his cold exterior however, Draco thought he glimpsed a spark of gratitude in his father's pale face.

"We should not linger any longer, I think," Lucius continued, seeming to recompose himself. "I will contact you again when I am able."

Draco nodded and was suddenly horrified to find tears gathering behind his eyes.

"Tell Mother I love her," he said, voice near to a whisper. "And that she should not endanger herself on account of me."

A hand resting gently on his shoulder made Draco raise his head. He looked at Lucius in confusion.

"It is a parent's prerogative to love and care for their child, Draco." Lucius lingered for a few seconds, clearly struggling with himself. In the end, he merely squeezed Draco's shoulder and took a step back, dropping his hand. "Good luck."

"You too, Father," Draco whispered.

Without another word, he Disapparated.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Just to warn everybody, this chapter is more gruesome than it's been in a while. Well, enjoy!**

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Harry sat up with a start, certain that he'd heard the tell-tale crack of Apparition. But of course, that was impossible, since Hermione had warded the area against Apparition with the exception of Harry, Draco, Ron, and herself.

Draco. Draco wasn't in bed with him, wasn't in the tent…and someone had just Apparated. Fighting back a mixture of fury and panic, Harry pushed out of the covers and placed his glasses on his face, just in time to see the tent flap open.

Draco started noticeably when he saw that Harry was awake, as he'd probably assumed that Harry had slept through the whole thing. And, judging by the guilty expression on his face, he'd likely been planning to keep Harry in the dark about his midnight liaisons.

Draco broke eye contact with Harry, nonchalantly replacing the tent flap.

"I thought you'd still be asleep," he said carefully. "I know how hard it is to wake you."

Harry gave a sharp laugh, pulling himself to his feet to stand facing Draco. Suppressing the urge to shake him harshly by the shoulders, Harry managed to ask between gritted teeth, "where did you go?"

Draco looked at him dully for a moment. Oddly enough, none of his usual defenses seemed to be clanging to the surface as they were usually apt to do. He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly.

"I think you know, Harry," he said quietly, yawning as if it were an afterthought. "So, please yell at me quickly, because I really would like to get some sleep. I wasn't lying about _that._" He pushed past Harry, jostling him slightly, and quickly threw his robes into a haphazard pile on the floor.

"Why?" Harry demanded harshly. Draco, midway through removing his second shoe, shrugged.

"I wasn't aware I needed your express permission to leave, Harry." He rolled his eyes. "I'll consult you in the future, not to worry. I won't make the same mistake twice…"

Harry rounded on him furiously, knocking him off-balance to land on their bed. Draco glared up at him, his breaths ragged. "Quite a temper you've got there, Potter."

Harry pounced on him, gripping his shoulders tightly enough to leave marks, yet not caring. Draco winced, but didn't attempt to pull away, merely staring up at Harry with glassy eyes.

"You fucking _idiot_!" Harry all but yelled, glad for the sound proof barrier between them and Ron and Hermione. "You could have been walking into a trap, you could have been killed or captured…and I would have just been here, wondering where you were, not knowing…"

"I was meeting my _father_, Harry," Draco spat, a spark of anger finally flashing in his eyes. "And I didn't just go there blind, I knew what I was doing."

"And if something had gone wrong? If it had been Voldemort waiting for you instead of your father?"

Draco rolled his eyes again, finally trying to jerk away from Harry's steadfast grip. "Just stop it, Harry. I knew it was safe because the blood magic on the parchment had a Malfoy signature, and the meeting place he chose is warded to prevent non-Malfoys from passing without permission. So you see, it was perfectly safe."

"Perfectly safe?" Harry asked incredulously. "Then why sneak around at all? Why not just tell me upfront, or even let me go with you?"

Draco attempted once more to squirm out of his grasp. "I'm tired, Harry," he said in resignation. "Please, just let me go."

"No. You didn't answer my question."

"Why, Harry? You're always saying how much you trust me. Maybe you should prove it."

Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "Don't change the subject."

Draco shuddered, then fixed Harry with a determined glare. "It wasn't safe for _you_, you idiot."

"Draco," Harry said quietly, finally letting his grip loosen. "I…"

Draco wrenched his arms free, rolling out from under Harry and curling into a ball. "Just leave it, Harry," he said in a scratchy voice. "There are things I need to tell you…but I'm just really tired."

Clearly, something was wrong, and when Harry climbed over Draco to face him, he was unsurprised to see tears streaking his face. Draco made a furious sound, swiping at his face with the heels of his hands.

"Draco," Harry murmured, running a hand soothingly down his spine, his anger abating into relief and concern. "What's wrong? Did something happen to your parents?"

"My mother," he said hoarsely, leaning against Harry. "He - Voldemort - is going to kill her, I know it. And there's not a single fucking thing I can do about it."

Harry felt a wave of regret wash over him. They had both known Lucius and Narcissa's lives were more or less forfeit the moment of their escape. But now, being confronted with it, Harry could only imagine the pain Draco was feeling.

"But they've been alright this far, right?" he asked gently, forcing hope into his voice, though mostly devoid of it himself. "I mean, your father managed to meet you, so that's good…"

Draco snorted even as his eyes brightened with fresh tears and he looked away. "My father is more concerned with the survival of the Malfoy line, Harry, than ensuring his own, or my mother's, life," he whispered bitterly. "Meeting me, giving me the information he did… helps us considerably more than himself… He told me…" Draco trailed off and swallowed thickly before continuing. "Apparently my mother has been saying things – about me, maybe even you – at rather unfortunate times. She's been punished for them…"

Harry closed his eyes briefly, an image of Narcissa's haughty face – so very like the one before him – swimming to his mind. Even during his brief encounters with Draco's mother at the Manor, Harry had been witness to the fiercely protective instincts she held concerning her son. How she must be reacting now…

"I'm so sorry, Draco," Harry murmured, resting his head beside Draco's, mere centimeters away. "If there were anything I could do…"

Slowly, Draco's gaze met his and Harry was momentarily taken aback by the shuttered, detached, grey eyes staring into his. It was as if all emotions had been tucked away in the length of a few seconds, leaving only half-dried tears as evidence to his anguish. Harry blinked.

_It's a defense mechanism,_ Harry reminded himself after a tense moment. _It's what he does when he's hurting too badly. In fact, Draco wore this look all throughout last year. I was just too stupid to notice._

"Draco…" Harry leaned his forehead into Draco's, feeling him shiver slightly with the intimate contact, but didn't back off. "Look, your parents are smart, they're resourceful, and I'm quite sure they'll avoid dying the best they can if it means seeing you again. You can't give up hope, alright?'"

Draco closed his eyes with a shuddering sigh that vibrated throughout his whole body. Harry tightened his arm around Draco's back and continued stroking soothing patterns into his flesh, hoping it was doing some good.

"That's the problem, Harry," Draco whispered several minutes later, startling Harry, who thought he'd fallen asleep. "I don't want to have hope… That only makes it harder, in the end…"

Silently pitying Draco for feeling he had to go through life that way, but also realizing pity would be the very last thing Draco wanted to hear from him, Harry remained quiet. At the same time however, he vowed to work on that with issue with Draco. But nothing had to be solved tonight.

Moments later, Draco's breathing evened and deepened enough that Harry was sure he'd fallen into an exhausted sleep. Releasing a soft sigh of his own, one mixed with affection, frustration, protectiveness, and so many other emotions, Harry allowed his mind to drift back into slumber.

* * *

The morning arrived all too soon, and with a wave of frigid air Harry had been expecting to greet them any day now. Shivering slightly, he wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and made his way to the campfire where Hermione and Draco already sat.

"Morning," Harry said tiredly, plopping down on the ground. He yelped in surprise and shot back to his feet.

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione scolded before casting what was no doubt a warming charm on the patch of frozen ground Harry had just sat on.

Feeling decidedly sheepish, Harry smiled slightly and sat back down. He then noticed Draco giving him an amused sideways glance.

"I suppose you thought of a warming charm right away?" Harry asked incredulously.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Actually, yes." He glanced at Hermione and smirked. "But maybe you just prefer slightly unusual sensations down there, Harry. Am I right?"

Hermione coughed loudly and attempted to look terribly busy tending to her cup of tea. Harry rolled his eyes.

As they each prepared and ate a light breakfast, Harry spent the time surveying Draco. He seemed alright. But then again, that didn't mean anything necessarily. Draco was a master of hiding, or at least masking, his emotions - and Harry had never been particularly good at reading other people. Especially Draco.

"Does Weasley ever plan on joining us?" Draco said after nearly half an hour had passed. Hermione and Harry both shrugged.

"Why?" Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "It's not like you two enjoy each other's company."

Draco sneered. "I have to tell you all something."

Harry raised his eyes curiously. Draco had said last night that Lucius had given them something important, but he'd nearly forgotten about it this morning.

"Besides," Draco went on snidely, "I'd rather not have to explain it twice. And having you here, Granger, means you can translate for him."

"Translate what?"

Harry greeted a tousled-hair Ron and quickly cast a warming charm before his friend could make the same mistake he had. Ron smiled at him thankfully.

"Translate what?" he repeated, glancing at Draco.

Draco took a breath and Harry crossed his arms, aware Draco would first have to confess to his impromptu trip last night before anything else.

"I left the camp and saw my father last night," he announced.

Harry blinked in surprise. Well, that was certainly direct.

"Draco!" Hermione gasped, eyes bulging. "You said you didn't know what that letter meant!"

Draco shrugged slightly. "I lied," he replied simply.

Harry started when he realized Ron had reached for his wand.

"Ron, stop it," he hissed. Ron glared at him angrily and swung the glare over to Draco.

"If I find out you betrayed us, I'll kill you!" Ron growled dangerously. "You know, I had just started to trust you, and then you go and pull something like this, you lying bastard!"

"Oh, get a grip, Weasley," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "If I'd betrayed you, then why would we all be sitting here right now?"

Ron spluttered. "I - I don't know! You probably planned - I bet - "

It was Hermione's hand on his shoulder that shut Ron up. "Calm down," she said firmly. "I'm sure Draco had a good reason for not telling us everything." She looked up at Draco with an expectant look on her face.

For a moment, Harry didn't think Draco would oblige them, explaining about the meeting place and how it wouldn't have been safe for Harry - although Harry himself was still less than thrilled that he'd gone without saying anything - but eventually the stubborn look on Draco's face lessened slightly and he recited all of what he'd told Harry last night. The parts concerning his mother, Harry noticed, he kept to himself.

Draco reached into his pocket, pulling out a slip of paper. Ron started slightly, his hand going back to his wand, and Harry frowned at him in spite of himself. Ron had been his best friend for years, yet there were times, such as now, when Harry would have liked nothing better than to tell him to grow up.

"I can't read this out loud," Draco said quietly, passing the paper to Harry. Harry's breath hitched slightly as he realized what it was. "Because the location is protected by the Fidelius Charm. But we can Apparate to Godric's Hollow and go to the graveyard, and since we have the location…"

"And why would we want to do that?" Ron cut in, crossing his arms over his chest. "After you lied to us last night, why the hell would we want to listen to anything you say?"

"Because, Weasley," Draco snapped, his lips twisting into a sneer which Harry should have found familiar, but instead found strangely foreign. "As I was saying before you interrupted me, the Hufflepuff cup will be there. My father didn't give me any clue as to how to destroy it, but…"

"Draco, that's _wonderful_," Hermione gasped, her eyes widening. Then, as if noting Ron's deepening scowl, she cleared her throat, replacing her composure. "But - and don't take this the wrong way, please - but can we be sure it's safe? I mean, obviously it's not safe, but how can we know that we aren't walking into a trap? Not that your father would do that to you," she added hastily. "But he'd have little choice if, for instance, he was under the Imperius Curse…"

Harry saved Draco from having to speak, as he noticed him pale slightly at the mention of the Imperius Curse. Apparently, the thought hadn't even occurred to him.

"There's only one way to know," Harry said firmly, wishing he, and not Hermione, was sitting beside Draco so he could take his hand. "We took a risk when we went to the Smith mansion, and if it weren't for Tonks, we might have been caught. If it's a trap, then, it is. I know I was caught before, but this time I'm not alone…I have people that I trust, that I l-love…" Harry looked down, feeling his face burning slightly, then looked up resolutely. "We'll be okay."

Harry snuck a glance at Draco, who was looking at him with something akin to awe. Harry smiled at him, then looked away.

"I love you too, Harry," Hermione said with a slight sniff and the start of tears in her eyes. Harry worked to suppress a smile; for someone as rational and level-headed as Hermione, it took very little to make her tear up.

"And you're absolutely right," she continued firmly, giving Ron a stubborn look. "If we want to destroy the Horcruxes and get rid of V-Voldemort once and for all…" she shot Ron an annoyed glance when he cowered slightly at the name, "then we have to take risks. And we have to trust each other." At this she gave a pointed look not only to Ron, but to Draco as well.

"So, I'm coming with you. Obviously." She smirked slightly. "After all, you need _someone_ there who can keep a cool head and listen to sense."

"How about you, Ron?" Harry asked softly. "I won't think less of you if you decide not to come, you know."

Ron flushed a deep crimson. "Of course I'm coming! Bloody hell, Harry, what sort of friend would I be if I let you lot go alone?" He looked reservedly at Draco, giving him a small nod. "I don't know that I trust you entirely, Malfoy, but I don't think you'd do anything to hurt Harry." Now Draco flushed slightly, looking down. "Just don't muck it up," he finished.

"So," Hermione said primly, easily falling back into her role as leader. And for this, Harry was immensely grateful. "Let's take an hour then, so we can all finish breakfast, get dressed, shower, that sort of thing…"

"Wait!" Draco said, startling Harry slightly. "One more thing…I'm not sure what he meant, exactly, but my father said that the Horcrux will be guarded by 'old fans', whatever that means. But considering it's in a graveyard…"

"Inferi, maybe," Harry said, gulping slightly. "But if that's the case, they aren't so bad, really. They're afraid of fire…"

"We'll be fine," Hermione said, reaching forward to pat him on the leg. She smiled reassuringly, then rose to her feet. "Come on, Ronald," she said, pulling Ron up by his arm. "A shower would do us good, I think." Ron, predictably, turned red, but followed after Hermione nonetheless, leaving Harry and Draco alone.

"Well, they aren't subtle in the least, are they," Draco said wryly, after a moment.

Harry groaned. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear any of _that_." Draco laughed, then, unexpectedly, lunged forward and kissed Harry, hard. He pulled away shortly after, resting his forehead to Harry's with a contented sigh.

"Hey, are you okay?" Harry asked, tugging Draco's hair gently.

"Just fine," Draco said softly, tugging Harry's hair in turn, his other hand lying palm-down on Harry's chest. "Better than fine." He kissed Harry once more, than pulled himself upright.

"I'm going to go take a shower myself…hopefully far from the amorous activities of Granger and Weasley…" he cringed, then gave Harry a meaningful look. "You're welcome to join me, of course. Unless you're still adverse to showering," he smirked.

"Shut up," Harry said, unable to suppress a grin. Draco grinned back, then began walking away. Harry stared after him for a moment, undoubtedly wearing a most incredulous expression. Sometimes, other people truly baffled him.

* * *

Draco stumbled slightly upon Apparating, earning a concerned look from Harry, who immediately steadied him.

"I'm okay," he reassured him, attempting to quell his shaky breathing. The truth was, the weeks of inadequate sleep and food, along with the more recent pain of his arm, were finally starting to take a toll on him. But, as he knew it was all basically self-inflicted, he was loathe to mention it, silently vowing to do something about it in the near future.

They had all used various glamours to alter their appearances slightly, as was prudent in broad daylight; Harry had the red hair befitting of a Weasley, to Draco's utter amusement and dismay, a slightly longer nose, and no scar.

"Well, here we are," Hermione said with forced cheerfulness. Her hair appeared shorter, straighter, and lighter, rendering her almost unrecognizable to anyone accustomed to seeing her bushy head of hair.

"Is it always this deserted?" Harry asked, frowning as he looked around the town square. "Oh," he breathed, his eyes widening. Draco spun around, seeing that Harry was staring at a war memorial very closely, yet he could see nothing terribly special about it.

Draco was just opening his mouth to ask, when the statue changed. There, in the middle of the town square, was a statue of James and Lily Potter cradling an infant Harry between them.

Harry made a choked sort of sound, moving closer to the statue without another word.

Draco moved tentatively to his side, touching his arm lightly. "Harry?"

Harry managed to smile weakly. "It's okay. I just…I didn't know this was here. I…it sounds stupid, but I miss them."

"It's not stupid," Draco said firmly, clasping his hand tightly. "They're your parents."

Harry nodded, gripping Draco's hand back. "When all this is over, I'd like to come back here; see where we lived, go to their…grave," he gave a tiny shudder. "Would you…do you think you could come with me?"

Much like earlier, Draco felt as though he were basked in warmth. "Of course," he said softly.

"Thanks." Harry gave his hand one last squeeze before letting go, then walked back to Ron and Hermione. Hermione had a hand on Ron's arm, as if having restrained him from following Harry, and for this, Draco was grateful. He gave her a tiny nod, and she gave one in return.

"You okay, mate?" Ron asked quietly, his brows furrowing in concern.

"Yeah," Harry said, accepting Hermione's embrace with a tight smile. "I'm fine. Let's just get this over with."

Draco couldn't help the growing sense of dread that invaded his mind as they made their way through the town. It wasn't that anyone seemed to be following them, or even watching them, for that matter; what was most unnerving was that he didn't see anyone at all.

"Does anyone find it strange that nobody's outside in the middle of the day?" Ron piped in, his voice timid. Draco glanced at him and scowled slightly.

"I'm sure there's a reason," Hermione murmured, patting him on the arm.

Ron snorted softly. "Yeah, a reason like no one wants to live in this creepy town."

"Funny, I thought all this vacant real-estate would excite you, Weasley," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes and wishing Ron would shut up.

"Hey!" Ron began in an offended tone. "You - "

"There's the graveyard."

Harry's quiet words cut through Ron's indignant reply better than any insult Draco could have come up with, and he immediately shut his mouth with a nearly audible snap.

"So…" Harry gazed around the quiet landscape for a moment. "What do you think we should do? I mean, this just seems way too easy."

Draco didn't reply. Instead he took a step forward and glanced at the run-down graveyard, his eyes catching briefly on several out-of-place mounds of dirt, but other than that, it looked entirely ordinary.

"Hmm." Hermione cast a spell in the general direction of the graveyard, but it didn't react as it had at the Smith Mansion, bouncing back and alerting them to the presence of any wards. It simply sailed through the air for a moment before vanishing into a distant tree-trunk with a soft pop. "That doesn't make sense," she said softly, and re-cast the spell. Again, nothing happened.

The wind suddenly gusted around them, tearing at their hair and robes. Draco shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, but then smiled reassuringly when Harry cast yet another concerned glance his way. Harry raised his eyebrows and turned back to the graves.

"I guess we should look for - the address," Harry said, clearly stumbling as the Fidelius Charm took his ability to speak the actual name away.

They all agreed and started forward, with Hermione just barely in the lead.

Her startled gasp was the only warning they had before all the light abruptly vanished.

Draco had never been so aware of his other senses before as the dark pressed into him with the force of several tons. Nearly crushing Harry's hand with his own, he fought to calm his breathing.

"_Lumos_," Draco whispered furiously. Three matching spells were cast almost simultaneously and then they were able to see again, even if the light only extended to a small bubble around them. Draco's eyes widened when he realized that what, or more importantly, whom, he was seeing was not correct.

"Our glamours are gone!" Ron exclaimed, running a hand through his own hair, dazzlingly red once more.

Hermione began nervously explaining the mechanics of how that might have happened when Harry made a gesture for them to be quiet.

"I don't think that's our biggest problem right now," he whispered.

Not sure he wanted to look, but unable to refrain, Draco followed Harry's gaze.

Draco had never seen Inferi. Nor had he ever wanted to. Yet here they were, dozens of them, milling around like obscene, grotesque puppets, their jerky movements and rotting faces leaving little doubt as to what they were. Almost unconsciously, Draco moved closer to Harry and raised his wand.

"Don't cast anything at them," Harry warned in a soft, strangely calm voice. "Last time they didn't bother us until _we _disturbed _them_."

Ron whimpered.

"How are we supposed to get through them, Harry?" Hermione hissed under her breath.

"They don't like the light," Harry went on, edging forward slightly. As if to prove his point, the absently moving Inferi changed their courses to avoid the slight glow of Harry's wand.

"They probably don't even realize why they're moving away," Draco murmured, taking a step as well. "They're like animals, reacting to stimuli."

Harry shook his head without turning around. "No. They're not even animals. They're… they're just things."

"Okay, Harry," Hermione said. "Let's move then. Really slowly. Our destination should be over there." She indicated a direction with her wand.

Draco stuck as close to Harry's shoulder as humanly possible without actually touching him, seeing as unexpected contact right now would be disastrous if one of them were to fall and therefore alert the Inferi to their presence.

"I wonder if this is why no one lives in the town," Ron whispered nervously as they moved slowly forward. Draco resisted the urge to snap at him since, after all, he was nervous as hell, too. Only, Ron chose to alleviate his nerves in a much more annoying manner than anyone else there.

"I still don't know how I missed the spells around this place," Hermione answered in a fretful voice. "Maybe I should've - "

"Granger," Draco growled softly. "You're a bloody genius and all, but I think whoever set this place up might have been slightly more advanced than you. Now will you two please shut up?"

Harry suddenly gripped his arm tightly. "Do you think your father helped with… with whatever it is they've done here? How else would he have known the address and all…"

The same thought had already occurred to Draco though he'd been afraid to voice before now. He nodded jerkily.

Harry gave his arm another squeeze, meanwhile the Inferi surrounding them seemed to be moving closer and closer, like flies buzzing around a corpse, despite their lit wands. Draco shuddered in spite of himself as the sickly sweet stench of decay pervaded his nostrils. A couple of them made strange hissing sounds, which of course would be all their decayed vocal cords would allow.

"I think they see us," Hermione whispered shakily, giving a tiny gasp as a small Inferius, a child prior to death, moved inches away from her and gave a raspy growl. Ron whimpered again and for once, Draco couldn't blame him.

"It's because we're getting closer," Harry said hoarsely. "It was like this before, with Dumbledore. They're guarding the Horcrux."

"They're afraid of fire, though, right?" Draco asked, his voice more squeaky than he'd intended. "We can just send fire at them or something…"

"Not yet," Harry breathed. "Let's not really piss them off until we have to…" his voice trailed off, and he drew in a harsh intake of breath. He stumbled, landing roughly on his knees.

"Harry!" Draco cried out in alarm, crouching beside him with his wand drawn.

"Keep him surrounded!" Hermione said sharply, as she and Ron quickly scrambled to do so.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Draco demanded, perhaps more harshly than was warranted. But it was hard to be calm with dozens of reanimated corpses milling eerily around them. In fact, it was hard to be anything other than terrified as fuck.

Harry shuddered convulsively, his hand raising to point at something. "My parents," he moaned, then dropped his hand and promptly vomited on the grass.

_Oh, fuck. _Perhaps not the most eloquent thought, but as Draco forced himself to look at the two Inferi standing closest, it was the only thought that came to mind. Lily and James Potter, war heroes, parents of the Boy-Who-Lived, now were merely vessels to do Voldemort's bidding. Only it wasn't really them, he reminded himself hastily, forcing his gaze away from their grotesquely decaying faces - Lily's eye sockets were completely empty, one side of James's face was teaming with maggots - it was merely their shells. He thought about conveying this to Harry, who was presently leaning forward to vomit again, but realized there wasn't enough time. In his current emotional state, Harry was too much a danger to himself, as well as the rest of them.

"_Incendio_!" Draco cried, forcing the fire from his wand to surround the four of them. The Inferi immediately drew back, a few of them screeching and hissing. Hermione whirled around, and Draco met her eyes, inclining his head toward the two Inferi. Her eyes widened in horror, and she gestured towards Harry.

The message was clear enough to Draco, and he pointed his wand at Harry without a second thought. "_Stupify_!" Harry slumped forward immediately, and Draco reached out to catch him just in time to prevent him from falling face first in his own sick, which Draco hastily spelled away.

"What the fuck, Malfoy?" Ron screamed, raising his wand at him.

"Ron, stop it!" Hermione clutched his wand arm, forcing him to lower it. "Harry's parents are here." She swallowed, looking as though she could be sick herself. "Voldemort probably thought it was amusing, the way he's got them moving together, side by side…it makes it even worse for Harry."

"Fuck," Ron said angrily, his fists pounding against his own legs. "That evil, snake-faced, _fuck_."

Draco nodded hastily, brushing Harry's hair gently away from his scar before rising to his feet. "That he is, Weasley."

"Ron," Hermione said quietly, her eyes narrowing as she appeared to survey the increasing number of Inferi surrounding their ring of fire. "I need you to stay with Harry, keep him safe. He can't…we can't ask him to go through this."

Ron nodded gravely, gulping slightly. "Yeah. I can do that." He bit his lip, looking at Hermione anxiously, then shook his head as if changing his mind.

"I won't ask if you'll be okay," Ron said with a sheepish smile. "Because you're the best, Hermione. So I know you'll be fine. Probably better than usual since you won't be looking after me," he added with a self-deprecating smirk.

Hermione gave a small sniff, flinging herself into Ron's arms - and kissed him fiercely, whispering something to him. Whatever it was, Draco decided, he'd probably be better off not knowing.

"And look after Malfoy," Ron said, giving Draco a nod after Hermione had pulled away. "He's not as bad as he seems."

Now, Draco had no idea what to say to _that_, so he simply stared at Ron incredulously for a moment, until Hermione tugged him on the arm.

"Come on," she said firmly.

Taking one final look at Harry's limp form, Draco nodded, and together he and Hermione moved forward. He forced himself not to turn around when he heard the sound of Ron and Harry Disapparating behind them, though his stomach gave a soft lurch. He hoped they would be safe.

"It shouldn't be much further," Hermione spoke softly.

As if confirming her statement, several Inferi moaned wetly and lunged toward them. Hermione screamed as one of their hands scraped her arm.

"_Incendio_!" Draco waved his wand in a wild arc around himself and Hermione, driving the Inferi back in a tumbling, burning mass of flesh. Their moans grew louder. To Draco, they now sounded more like snarls and growls than anything.

"Are you alright?" he asked, sparing a glance for Hermione. Her eyes were wide with fright but she nodded quickly.

"Let's keep moving," she said, obviously fighting to keep her voice from wavering too badly. Then she whispered, "_Incendio_!", her own fire joining with Draco's in a single, scorching blade of flames.

They stepped in time with each other for several feet, each careful to keep the barrier burning on either side. Draco fought the urge to be sick when he glimpsed corpses of James and Lily Potter clawing along with them. They'd been caught in the latest casting of _Incendio_. He could tell because half of James's head had collapsed in on itself in a writhing mixture of charred, decaying flesh and teeming worms. Lily's hands were nothing more than blackened stumps. Draco swallowed and forced his eyes elsewhere.

"I think I see it," he said, suddenly glimpsing a large, stone mausoleum, one that surely stored the bodies of dozens of ancient families.

"You really think he would store a horcrux in a mausoleum?" Hermione asked. She stood close enough that their arms brushed each other.

Draco nodded slowly. "If Voldemort's greatest fear is death, what better gesture than desecrating a place for the dead with a piece of his own immortality?"

With a quick glance around them, he took a step forward, tentatively reaching out a hand to lay on the closest pillar -

- and was flung backwards into the mass of Inferi.

Hermione screamed, Draco imagined he was screaming too, as slimy, rotten hands grasped at his arms, his legs, even his head, nearly overwhelming him with the stench.

"Draco, duck!" Hermione cried.

Draco didn't try to think, he only reacted, and then the air above him scorched with heat. The Inferi screamed and begin to fall away, nearly dragging Draco with them but, by that point, he had recovered his wits enough and wordlessly joined in with his own spell.

Hermione shrieked. Draco turned his head sharply and saw one of the Inferi literally hanging off Hermione's shoulder, its head and teeth buried deeply in her skin. Draco swung his fire around and shot a jet of flame directly into its body. For a moment, he feared it wouldn't let go as the Inferi shook its head viciously back and forth, but then it stumbled back with a tremendous moan and faded into the darkness.

"My shoulder…" Hermione gasped, stumbling into Draco's side. He caught her with his free arm, though it was the left one, and steadied her trembling body.

"Can you keep going?" he asked, simultaneously eyeing her torn shoulder and swinging another jet of flames around them.

Hermione nodded jerkily and raised her wand again. "I'll be alright."

"I don't think we can go into the mausoleum," Draco said, glaring at the pillar that had just thrown him back.

"Your Mark!" Hermione exclaimed. She gently grabbed his arm and took it off her own. "Your father sent you here, so he had to know you'd be able to get through. Wouldn't it make sense that your Mark would, I don't know, identify you or something?"

"What if the masking spell hinders it?" Draco asked, absently tugging his arm closer to his chest. Hermione shook her head vigorously.

"No, it shouldn't. That only - never mind! There's no time to explain right now!" She indicated at the swarming Inferi. "Just try it! I'll stay here and keep them back."

Not allowing himself time to truly think about what he was doing, Draco thrust his left arm toward the pillar. This time, he wasn't thrown back. Instead he felt himself being pulled forward, as if yanked by an invisible rope around his wrist, and he stumbled into the mausoleum, tripping on some unexpected stairs and landing roughly on his knees. Directly in front of him, sitting primly on a glowing stone tablet, was the Hufflepuff cup.

"Draco!"

"I'm alright. And I see the cup," Draco called back, answering Hermione's anxious cry. He realized he'd fallen down at least a couple feet and she probably couldn't see him at all from her current position.

Draco stood slowly, eyes never leaving the illuminated cup. Knowing it couldn't be this easy - if any of this classified as easy - but daring to hope so anyway, he reached toward it. Nearly his entire left hand was immerged in the liquid-blue light of the tablet when a fine line of blood appeared across his wrist and Draco yanked back his hand with a surprised hiss. He stared at his arm, which now contained a thickly bleeding cut directly across the veins of his wrist.

"Episkey," he muttered. The wound began to close immediately but something else happened as well. The blue light of the table, though unnoticed a moment ago, had retracted ever so slightly as it caught several falling drops of Draco's blood. And now, as the wound healed, it inched back to its former position and continued to glow fervently. Draco closed his eyes briefly.

"Hermione?" he called, trying to keep his voice and breathing steady.

"I'm here," she replied quickly. "Did you get it?"

"Um," Draco took a breath. "I think I know what I have to do. And I don't think I'll be able to help with the Inferi very much when… when it's done."

"Okay," Hermione said quickly, obviously putting on a brave front for his sake. "I'll handle them for the both of us, then. Just…be careful, okay?"

"I will," Draco said, his tone hopefully conveying more assurance than he currently felt. Taking a deep breath and steadying himself for the pain, he reached his left arm back under the blue light. Immediately, he felt a sharp sting as his wrist was once again sliced open, and he fought back the urge to wrench it away.

All in all, the pain wasn't so bad. In fact, it was nothing compared to the agony he went through with his Mark, although he could feel himself becoming increasingly weaker as his blood continued to pour out of his cut wrist, pulsing in time with his heart beat.

Draco caught himself just as he felt his consciousness begin to fade - passing out was simply _not _an option. Instead, he gritted his teeth and stomped his feet, hoping by sheer will that the blue light would begin to retract.

And it was retracting, slowly but surely, and just as the buzzing in his head seemed to reach a crescendo, the light was gone altogether, and the Cup was within reach of his trembling fingers. With a lunge forward that was undoubtedly pure adrenalin, Draco wrapped his fingers around the Cup and grabbed it, stepping back clumsily.

Quickly muttering a healing spell to close his wrist, Draco slumped to the ground, panting sharply and fighting the urge to close his eyes.

"Draco?" Hermione's voice cut through the haze in his brain, and he managed to pull himself upright, the Cup clutched firmly in his hand.

"I'm okay. I've got the Cup. I'm coming," Draco said hoarsely, unable to raise his voice above a whisper. He then half walked, half crawled up the few steps, stumbling and staggering until he reached the entrance of the mausoleum, falling against Hermione as he left the building.

"Oh, Draco," she murmured in a tremulous voice, putting an arm around his waist to steady him. Hazily, he was aware of the fire around them, of the stench of the Inferi, but it seemed suddenly less important than his all-encompassing need to sleep, and he felt his legs turn rubbery in spite of himself, and he stumbled to his knees.

"Draco!" Hermione said in alarm, and he felt her slap him lightly on the face. "Draco, we've got to keep going, okay? As soon as we're back I'll give you a Blood-Replenishing potion, but you've got to help me out a little. Even if I did a Lightening Charm to carry you, I don't think I'd be able to hold my wand and the Cup…at least not with my shoulder like it is. So we'll just…we'll help each other out, alright?"

Draco nodded, and with Hermione's assistance, pulled himself to his feet, leaning on her heavily. Dimly, he was cognizant of the fact that he was much taller and heavier than Hermione, and that with her shoulder as it was, he was taxing her greatly.

"Sorry…" he slurred, lacking both the energy and the inclination to say more.

"It's okay," she said in a soothing tone. "You're doing great, Draco." They began walking forward, step by shuffling step, the Inferi stalking beside them all the while. Hermione kept her wand waving in a wild arc of flames, and occasionally the gruesome scent of charred, rotten flesh filled the air.

Draco's head rushed suddenly, and he nearly fell forward - right into James Potter. He screamed weakly, his hands scrabbling for purchase. Hermione yelled something and grabbed his arm - the left one, as luck had it - and shot a ball of fire at James.

"Come on," Hermione said quickly. "We're almost there." Draco nodded, the pain in his arm exquisite. But luckily, the intense pain served to rev up his adrenalin, and he managed to walk the last few yards to the entrance without leaning as heavily on Hermione.

Finally, they reached the gate and walked through, the inky blackness quickly dissipating into midday light. Draco collapsed onto the grass and closed his eyes, and in spite of Hermione's yells, quickly slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note: Thanks for all the kind reviews! They're all greatly appreciated. **

**This chapter isn't happy, exactly, just to warn everybody. But with that said, enjoy!**

* * *

For the second time in so many months, Harry awoke bound and blindfolded. His first instinct was to struggle madly, which he did for several seconds, but loud, unfamiliar laughter stilled his movements immediately. But even as icy panic ran through his veins and wound around his body like taut wire, Harry forced himself to take deep breaths and concentrate. Panicking would do him no good if he was going to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Oh, look!" crooned a nearby voice, undoubtedly a woman. "Sleeping Beauty's come back to join us!"

Harry flinched as a hand roughly readjusted the bonds around his hands, tightening them to the point of numbness.

A second voice - this one a man - answered the first. "I don't know, Maggie. Calling him 'beauty' might be pushing it a bit. Right now he looks more like a rotten tomato that grew arms and legs."

"Maybe Freckles over here got jealous," Maggie said enthusiastically. "Maybe he was tired of looking so red all the time and wanted his little buddy to match!"

What they were talking about became apparent to Harry the moment he tried to turn his head. His cheek and ear, when they scraped gently over the ground with the movement, burned and prickled badly enough to send tears to Harry's eyes. He cried out softly in surprise and pain, earning another raucous laugh from Maggie.

"Ron?" Harry called through the cloth in his mouth. It came out sounding more like "won".

"Shut up, you," the man growled, but not soon enough to mask the muffled yell that Ron returned from not so far away. Harry relaxed marginally. Ron was alright, or at least he was there, and no one had mentioned Draco and Hermione yet…

Harry frowned. And then a wave of nausea passed over him as he remembered what he'd seen in the graveyard. He gulped away the bile, knowing he might choke to death in his current state. Freezing up as he had… hadn't been the best thing he could've done. But that didn't explain why he couldn't remember anything between seeing the rotten, decaying faces of his parents and waking up here. Had he fainted? Been hit with a spell?

"Ah, Roger, don't be so hard on the lad," Maggie sounded as if she'd come closer. Harry tensed. "He's just worried about Freckles here."

Quite suddenly, the blindfold around his eyes was removed and Harry blinked rapidly as the light made his eyes water. Even they felt puffy.

"Hawwy!" Ron grunted once again. Harry swung his eyes past Maggie, who was sitting cross-legged right beside him, to his similarly bound friend. Ron was half-sitting, half-lying in the dirt, sporting a spectacular bruise on the side of his head. Other than that, he seemed unscathed.

Mind still roiling in confusion, Harry focused back on Maggie and she stared back openly, looking less than concerned. She didn't have the crazed look of Bellatrix, nor did she have the calm composure of Lucius, but there was something in her eyes that was… just a little off.

"Maggie!" the man, Roger, said sharply. "I can see the other two!"

Maggie quickly scrambled to her feet with an excited air about her. She practically bounced up and down as she peered around the corner of wherever they were. Harry heard her gasp loudly.

"I can't believe they made it out!" she exclaimed. Roger hissed at her to quite down. "I can't believe they _all _made it out! People who go in there never come back out!"

Roger turned slightly so that Harry had a better view of him. He was past middle-aged, by quite a bit, and contained none of the excitement that his counterpart displayed. When he met Harry's eyes, Harry shivered slightly and looked away. Roger reminded him far too much of the Death Eaters he'd become acquainted with as of late.

"Stay here," Roger ordered in a quiet voice. "It looks like one of them's hurt so I've just got to deal with the other."

Harry's heart clenched painfully, knowing it was either Draco or Hermione who was hurt. They were also both about to be attacked.

"Leave them alone!" Harry yelled into his gag. Of course, his words came out entirely inaudible, but Roger and Maggie got the point nonetheless.

Maggie cackled. "Don't worry, love," she said in a mock-soothing voice, "we need you kids in one piece. Well, more or less."

Harry felt himself shaking with frustration as Roger disappeared from view. He glanced over to Ron. He had an expression of utter helplessness mixed with extreme anger on his face and Harry recalled how he'd reacted to Hermione being hurt last time.

Harry tried to think, to really think, as he'd often been accused of not doing in the past. And maybe it wasn't an entirely fair accusation, but there were elements of truth in it. Simply reacting to situations in the past had gotten him nowhere – had in fact caused Sirius's death, his own capture and torture, Draco's torture, his crippling horror at his parents' ultimate fate…

Harry forced himself to shut off that line of thinking immediately, and instead busied himself with _thinking. _Without drawing attention to himself, he wriggled his fingers experimentally, hoping to test the strength of the bonds, and was quickly discouraged.

"Testing out your bonds, sweetheart?" Maggie asked with a smile eerily reminiscent of Bellatrix, telling him that she had noticed, and found it amusing. She nodded at him, looking serene as she sat cross-legged beside him once again. "Roger invented that spell himself, and believe me, he takes his work seriously." She gave him a condescending pat on the head, then smirked.

"What do you want?" Harry tried to ask, but the words came out muffled due to the gag. Maggie laughed, and with a flick of her wand, the gag was gone.

Harry glared at her, forcing his breathing to calm. "What do you want?" he asked as coolly as possible, which was difficult considering how badly he wanted to know what was happening with Draco and Hermione. If either of them was hurt…

Maggie didn't answer, instead giving an excited shriek as Roger came back into view, Hermione's arm clutched vice-like in his hand. Her nose appeared to be broken and she limped slightly, but her eyes were oddly triumphant – Harry had no idea why. Ron gave a small cry upon seeing her, thrashing against his bonds like one possessed.

And Draco. Harry's heart lurched forward in his chest as Draco's levitating form came into view. He was clearly unconscious, his head tilted back so awkwardly that for one terrible moment Harry thought his neck must be broken. Roger floated him close to Harry and Ron, allowing him to drop unceremoniously, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the rise and fall of his chest.

Roger loosened his hold on Hermione's arm, then gripped behind her right shoulder and _squeezed_. Hermione screamed with pain, Ron screamed behind his gag, and Harry closed his eyes, trying desperately to think.

Roger gave Hermione's shoulder a final pinch, then pushed her forward, watching dispassionately as her knees buckled and she stumbled onto the ground. He continued to watch her emotionlessly, then his gaze became one of dark satisfaction as it shifted to Draco's still form.

"I believe I've found the Malfoy traitor," Roger said quietly. Maggie stood up, clapping her hands together like an excited child, causing Roger to frown at her.

"He's done something to his Dark Mark, I'm not sure what," he continued, prodding at Draco's arm with his boot. "It would be interesting to study." The last phrase was uttered not with conviction or excitement, but with chilling apathy.

"Well, we don't have _time_ for that," Maggie said in an exasperated tone. "We need to take them to…_him_…" her voice trembled slightly, and she gulped. "I wonder what the going rate is for blood traitors these days," she said in a far more confidant tone. "I just hope he's not too ugly after…after everything. It would be a shame."

Harry felt anger and fear clutching him, ringing in his ears, and he wondered that they couldn't hear it as well.

"Leave him alone," he said fiercely, causing both Roger and Maggie to turn and look at him.

Maggie chuckled softly. "Or what, dear one? You're not exactly in a position to bargain, you know. But don't worry, ugly though you are, I'm sure he'll think of something creative for you. And he might not even kill you, you know…unlike your friend here…"

"I can give you Harry Potter," Harry said thickly, unwilling to think of Draco dying. "I know where he is."

Maggie stared at him incredulously, something like open joy in her face. Roger stared at him as well, then burst out laughing.

"_Finite Incantatem_," he said lazily, sending the spell at Harry. Harry gasped as he felt the stinging in his face begin to subside, then disappear completely.

"Well, you see, Mr. Potter," Roger drawled, crossing his arms with a contented nod. "That would be a great bargain - if we didn't already have him."

Harry snarled, aware that his restored features would be able to convey the expression now. Helplessness, fear, and anger bubbled up in his chest, drawing breaths from Harry faster than he would have liked, and thoughts of escape began slipping away like water.

"Please," Hermione spoke up softly. "You're not Death Eaters. Why are you doing this?"

Ron grumbled his agreement from beside them.

Roger snorted. Maggie cackled and ran her hand lightly over Hermione's hair.

A thought suddenly occurred to Harry. "You," he said, narrowing his eyes at Maggie. "You mentioned Sleeping Beauty. That's a Muggle fairy tale. So you're not even a Pureblood."

If Harry had imagined Maggie would have a sudden realization at this point, perhaps even repent for all the wrong she'd done and set them free, he was sadly mistaken.

"I'm a Half-Blood," she said proudly, her grin widening. "Raised Muggle, actually. And no, I'm not a Death Eater. But I do play for the winning team." She raised an eyebrow at Harry's incredulous expression. "In case you were wondering, Harry Potter, that wouldn't be you."

Harry swallowed his angry retort when he saw how closely Roger was following their conversation.

"They're on their way," he spoke, twining his fingers together and leaning back against the wall. "They've promised enough money to last several months, by which time, this silly rebellion will all be over with, of course."

"How can you do this?" Hermione cried, sitting back and wrapping her arms around herself. Tears shone brilliantly in her eyes. "_Please_. We'll do whatever you want. Just let us go."

Roger eyed her dispassionately. He then raised his wand and wordlessly cast a spell that left Hermione bound as tightly as Harry and Ron. They both protested loudly when she lost her balance and collapsed onto her side, moaning softly as the impact jarred her obviously wounded shoulder.

Chuckling, Maggie plopped down between Harry and Draco and reached a hand toward Harry's face. He flinched violently, jerking his head away as far as he could.

"That's not very nice," she pouted, jutting out her bottom lip. "Oh, well. Maybe your friend here will be more friendly. _Evenerate_."

Harry's breath caught in his throat as Draco's eyes slowly fluttered open and stared briefly back into his. The other boy seemed dazed and weak, much weaker than he already had been, and Harry wished he knew what had happened in the graveyard.

"What…?" Draco blinked in obvious confusion, noticing the strange woman sitting between them.

Although Harry could no longer see her face, he imagined the crazed smile had returned to her face as she reached a hand toward Draco. Draco jerked sluggishly but even moving his head seemed an effort. Harry's worry increased when he wasn't able to react fast enough and Maggie's fingernails scraped roughly across his cheek, leaving fine red lines in their wake. Apparently satisfied, Maggie giggled into her hands and bounded to her feet.

"Harry?" Draco whispered, gazing at him with tired, weary eyes.

Harry had to work hard at ignoring the inclination to scoot closer to Draco just then, knowing that showing such emotions around their captors would only harm them more. Instead, he attempted a small, reassuring smile.

"Don't worry," he said quietly. "We're going to get out of this. Just hang on, alright?"

Draco nodded almost imperceptibly, before his eyes seemed to drift shut of their own accord. Only momentarily, though. Through sheer force of will, as far as Harry could tell, he forced them back open and began to glance around slowly.

It was then that Harry's scar burst into flames in a way it hadn't done in weeks. The pain was all-encompassing, threatening to split his head in half, and he cried out in agony, unable to help himself. His link to Voldemort, which had lain dormant for weeks, suddenly snapped open violently, and Harry's mind was flooded with laughter. Harry collapsed onto his side, his body writhing as much as his bonds would allow.

"Harry!" Draco's voice, so weak just moments ago, was suddenly rife with urgency. "Shut it off, push him out, you have to!"

_Did you think you could get rid of me that easily, Harry? _Voldemort's voice in his head was full of wry amusement.

"I _can't_," _._Harry managed to choke, wishing he'd learned Occlumency from Snape - _Professor Snape, Harry - _when he'd had the chance.

Voldemort pushed violently through his mind, prodding and tearing wherever he could. Nothing was out-of-bounds or off-limits - from nights spent crying himself to sleep at the Dursleys, watching Cedric Diggory die, casting the Sectumsempra at Draco, kissing Draco for the first time…at this, Harry gave a shove of his own, trying in vain to push Voldemort away, because that was _private_, dammit. Voldemort just gave another laugh and swatted Harry away like a troublesome fly, pushing gleefully through Harry's most private and secret memories and thoughts, up to and including his anger with Draco for meeting Lucius on his own. Horrified, Harry attempted to push him away once more, but to no avail.

_Did you really think I didn't know, Harry? Love is such an easy thing to manipulate, don't you think? It is why I, who has never loved, am unaffected and therefore, privy to all such weaknesses in my servants. _

Harry could feel his mouth opening, undoubtedly crying out, and he was vaguely aware of Draco's hands clutching him, anchoring him. He could hear screams around him, and somehow, Ron and Hermione were both free and on their feet, firing spells in rapid succession.

Then, just as suddenly as it had sprung into being, the link snapped shut, leaving Harry's mind to practically _gasp_ from the shock. He rolled over, clutching his head and attempting to steady his breathing, and with a start, realized he was free of his bonds.

Harry raised his head wearily, his vision still blurring slightly. Hermione had apparently been knocked unconscious beside him, and he willed himself not to panic when he saw a line of blood from her mouth.

"She's alive," Draco said quietly, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes almost tenderly. "But you…you had me worried for a minute, there." He squeezed Harry's hand, his eyes shuttered.

"What happened?" Harry asked hoarsely. "Where's Ron?"

"He sort of…freaked out when that Roger fellow hit Hermione with something, and of course that was right after I'd broken all the bonds…so, he started just firing whatever he could at him, and they ended up chasing each other back into the graveyard." He shuddered visibly, then brightened. "But that woman that was with him? I managed to Stupify her before she even saw it coming." He gestured a few yards away at Maggie's prone form.

Harry felt a small tingle on his scar, and an oily wave of dread washed over him. They needed to get out of there, that much he was certain of. He was worried about Ron, of course he was, but they needed to _move_.

"Draco…" he began, pulling himself to his feet. "We've got to get out of here…"

Draco might have replied, but a sudden stab of pain in his scar caused his knees to give out, and he crumpled back on the ground with a startled cry.

"Harry, Harry," a familiar and terrible voice hissed. "When will you ever learn?"

Harry opened his eyes, gritting his teeth against the terrible pain in his head. "I guess I could ask the same to you, Tom."

Voldemort laughed, his reptilian eyes squinting into slits. "You really think you can provoke me like that? I've risen above that name, Harry, the name of the filthy Muggle who sired me. Bella," he hissed quietly. "Perhaps a lesson is warranted to our young friend?"

Harry pulled our his wand reflexively as Bellatrix Lestrange came into view from behind Voldemort, cackling softly, her eyes sparkling with madness. Flanked around Voldemort, Harry could make out several Death Eaters he recognized, among them Crabbe, Avery, and Lucius Malfoy.

The latter prompted a small spark of hope - although he knew better than to expect help from Lucius, he also was quite certain that he did love his son, and would do whatever he could to protect him.

Bellatrix stuck out her bottom lip upon seeing Harry's wand. "Aww, does wittle baby Potter want to play?" She raised her own wand, a smile twisting her lips as she began muttering the incantation to a spell under her breath.

"_Protego_!" Harry yelled at the last moment, his shield sending her own spell back at her. Bellatrix shrieked, stumbling backward as her skin began peeling off in raw lines down her face and her eyeballs appeared to boil.

Harry watched her in horror for a moment, then with puzzlement as her features began going back to normal.

Voldemort laughed cruelly, having apparently reversed the spell on Bellatrix. "Feels good, doesn't it, Harry?" Voldemort hissed, his eyes red and cold. "Giving your enemies what they deserve, making them _hurt_, just like you've been hurt. I bet you'd like to do that to your Muggle relatives, am I right? And why shouldn't you? They're just Muggles after all, and they've certainly wronged you…"

"_Crucio_!" Bellatrix cried at him, and without time to duck, Harry braced himself for the pain.

It was as he'd expected, and he cried out in agony as every nerve ending on his body was twisted savagely, and he rolled and screamed on the ground until his throat felt raw and bloody.

"_Sectumsempra_!" he heard Draco scream beside him, cutting through the haze of pain, and abruptly, the pain stopped completely. He raised his head in time to see Bellatrix Lestrange fall backwards with an expression of utmost shock, blood spraying from a gaping wound splitting her from collarbone to navel. Voldemort's lips gave a twitch of annoyance, and with a small flick of his wand, her wound stitched itself and the bleeding stopped, though Bellatrix continued to lay still.

"Young Malfoy," Voldemort said softly, moving closer. He smiled, sharp teeth gleaming. "So nice to have you back." Then, he flicked his wand before Harry had a chance to react.

Draco hastily cried out a shield charm, but it was too late, and he was dangling from the air by an ankle in the next instant, a spell Harry recognized as Snape's.

Harry raised his wand, prepared to send a slew of curses, but Voldemort barely blinked, his wand trained at Draco's head. Draco's eyes bulged, but he hung slackly, barely moving.

"Wand down, Harry, if you don't mind," Voldemort said as conversationally as if he were at a dinner party. "Unless you would like to see your Malfoy's head spinning off his shoulders?"

Harry's hand loosened on his wand, his breath hitching in his chest. "Will you let him go?" he asked in a small voice.

"I never said that," Voldemort said chidingly. "But I can guarantee he'll live…as you know, I'm quite adept at healing charms."

Harry's heart thudded in his chest. He couldn't let Draco die, he couldn't, but if he let himself be captured again, there was little hope of ever defeating Voldemort.

"He's lying," Draco said hoarsely, closing his eyes. "Don't do anything he says, Harry."

Voldemort muttered something, and a sound like a twig cracking caused Draco to cry out in pain, clutching a hand to his chest.

"What do you say, Harry," Voldemort hissed, raising his wand and breaking another of Draco's fingers. "First I'll break every bone in his body, one by one…then I'll cut off his limbs and feed them to Nagini…I'll keep him conscious all the while, able to feel everything…"

Harry shuddered and dropped his wand another few inches.

"Harry!" Draco said from between clenched teeth. "Lower your wand and I'll - "

He cried out as something else was broken, something larger, Harry imagined, judging by the harsh snap it made.

"Stop it!" Harry yelled, shaking with a combination of fear, anger, and helplessness. He nearly took a step forward, but stopped when Voldemort raised his wand again.

"Your son is turning out to be quite irritating, Lucius," Voldemort spoke, his mouth twitching in annoyance. "It seems that trait runs in your family."

Harry glanced at Lucius. The elder Malfoy was standing completely still, completely blank, though his eyes did not waver from watching his son, not even when Voldemort spoke his name.

_There's still time, _Harry thought frantically. Ron was still free after all, and they were barely watching Hermione. If there could only be a distraction of some sort… Harry didn't believe Lucius would simply stand by and watch Draco die, watch him brutally murdered by the insane madman he'd already turned from with his own actions.

"Well, Harry?" Voldemort purred. "What is your decision? Shall I summon Nagini?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione twitch. He couldn't tell if she was fully awake or not, not from this angle, but he hoped she would gather what was happening fast enough to not make any sudden moves. And then he made a decision.

"Fine, Tom," Harry said softly, raising his wand higher. "Summon Nagini. At least that way I can get rid of another Horcrux while I'm at it."

* * *

Draco had no idea what the hell Harry was planning. Thinking was becoming harder and harder as the remaining blood in his body rushed to his head, the pounding of his heart growing almost too loud to keep up with their conversation. And then there was the pain. Not only in his Dark Mark anymore, but shooting up and down the length of his arm with each bone Voldemort so casually snapped.

But all that seemed to grow quiet when Harry suddenly mentioned Horcruxes.

Voldemort's face twisted into a snarl and he lifted his wand above his head.

"Not very smart, Harry," he hissed in a low voice. Draco gasped and focused on not blacking out when a bone in his wrist snapped.

Voldemort continued. "Making me angry, as I thought I'd taught you in the past, is never a good idea. Or perhaps you like watching your lover suffer."

"Oh, I forgot," Harry went on, again in that same odd tone. "Not all of your followers know about your Horcruxes do they, Tom? Well, except Lucius, obviously. Considering he helped us get the cup and destroy it."

Through bleary eyes, Draco looked at Harry's face and found an oddly confident expression there, one he would not have expected, given the circumstances. Sighing, Draco closed his eyes for a moment, hoping Harry really did have some sort of plan and wasn't simply being his usual Gryffindorish self.

"What is this?"

Draco jerked weakly as Voldemort's breath whispered across his face. For a moment, he wondered how the reptilian-eyed man had moved so close, so quickly, but then he decided he must have passed out briefly.

"Where is it?" Voldemort's cold voice demanded. Vice-like fingers grasped the sides of Draco's head, forcing his face forward, and then red eyes bore into his own.

Draco knew what would happen next, disoriented though he was, and he raised his Occlumency shields with more force than he'd ever done in the past. It felt like a battering ram in his mind, one with claws and knives for fingers, as Voldemort tore into his memories. Draco poured every ounce of strength he possessed into defending himself. He knew Voldemort wasn't currently interested in anything more than the Hufflepuff Cup, and he'd probably seen plenty in Harry's mind already, so he focused solely on keeping the last hour or so buried. Voldemort screamed his outrage and tore deeper. Draco pushed. Voldemort tore harder. Draco pushed harder. Voldemort screamed again and sunk what felt like a spear of pure fire into Draco's mind, nearly piercing some of his thickest shields.

And then, quite suddenly, he was gone.

* * *

Harry stumbled backwards in surprise, barely managing to keep his footing as Voldemort cried out in shock and outrage and - and _pain_.

"Harry!"

He whirled around at Hermione's yell and his eyes widened further. The two Death Eaters who'd been flanking her both lay immobile on the ground. Ron stood over them with a fierce expression on his face.

"Harry!" she exclaimed again. "Come on! I don't think he'll be able to hold him long!"

Harry opened his mouth to ask how Ron was holding Voldemort, when an emotionless voice spoke from behind him.

"And if you wouldn't mind too terribly much," Lucius said calmly, "take my son along with you."

Lucius's mouth twitched into a disgusted smile as Voldemort choked out another angry cry, and the line of pure black light connecting him with Lucius's wand wavered ever so slightly.

"Might I suggest you do so quickly," he added.

Ron hurried forward alongside Harry, helping him to snap out of his surprised stupor.

"_Finite Incantatem!_" Harry said firmly, pointing his wand at Draco's ankle. He and Ron grunted as Draco's semiconscious form dropped unceremoniously onto them. Quickly arranging both his arms around their shoulders, they half walked, half dragged Draco back over to Hermione.

"Can you and Ron Apparate us, Harry?" she asked, her eyes never leaving Lucius and Voldemort. The black line had begun to quiver. Harry nodded hurriedly.

"Wait!" Draco gasped, struggling to raise his head. Harry exchanged a glance with Ron and Hermione. Hermione nodded slightly.

"Father," Draco spoke hoarsely, "what will happen to you?"

Voldemort gave another hair-raising shriek and the line clearly flickered. Lucius didn't seem to care as he fixed Draco with the same haughty, arrogant stare that Harry had grown to realize meant more than he knew.

"I will die, Draco, and pass into the realms of our forefathers." His arm shook suddenly but a slight flinch was the only indication he gave of noticing. "You, my son, will carry on the Malfoy line, as is your birthright. I only hope that your life will play out with more grace than my own."

Draco's entire body was shuddering against Harry and Ron. Harry tightened his hold, afraid any minute he would collapse completely. But Draco didn't collapse. He kept his head raised, eyes shining, and nodded.

"I love you, Father," he whispered.

Lucius closed his eyes briefly and, for the first time, Harry saw a wave of pure emotion sweep across his pale features. When he opened his eyes, he nodded once at Draco before swinging his gaze back to Voldemort, his face once again cooling into a mask of bored indifference.

"Goodbye, Draco," Lucius said. And then the black line vanished completely.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and focused on Apparating. But even as they tumbled and squeezed through space, bright green light flickered in his vision.

* * *

Draco could remember falling out of a tree as a child, falling flat on his back. He especially could remember the feeling of utter shock, of breathlessness. He felt that way now, and if it hadn't been for Harry holding him upright, he would have collapsed completely.

He stumbled anyway, upon Apparating back to the campsite, and Harry's arms circled automatically around his waist, holding him tightly for an instant before loosening.

"Let's get them into the tent," Harry instructed Ron, who was carefully steadying Hermione against him.

"I'm fine, Ron," Hermione said, pushing away from Ron. "Let me get my healing supplies." She disappeared into her and Ron's side of the tent, Ron hovering beside her like a mother hen.

Dimly, Draco thought that Hermione probably wasn't fine, as she'd been bitten by an Inferi and hit by numerous spells, but he lacked the strength to say so, letting Harry gently maneuver him into the tent.

"Lie down," Harry told him, helping him do so. Draco complied without a word, staring blankly up at the tent ceiling. He barely noticed as Hermione sat beside him and began healing the bones in his arm, as if broken bones were minor discomforts compared to the overall suffocation he was experiencing.

His father had saved them all. His father was dead. Draco felt his breath hitch, and his face was wet, although he couldn't remember crying.

"Draco?" Harry asked him gently, as if afraid of his fragility. Draco wanted to tell him that he _wasn't_ fragile, not in the least, but he didn't trust himself to speak.

"Hermione says you need to drink this - it's a Blood Replenishing Potion." He brushed the hair out of Draco's eyes, leaning in to kiss his forehead. Draco nearly pushed him away, because Harry's concern and caring were exactly what would push him over the edge. But at the same time, it was exactly what he wanted, and it simply felt too good to deny.

He nodded, and before he could attempt to sit up, Harry had one hand cradled behind his head to raise it slightly, and Draco swallowed the potion brought to his lips unquestioningly. He lowered his head back to his pillow, his eyes never leaving Harry, who was sitting beside him with his head bowed slightly.

"Is Hermione okay?" he managed to ask hoarsely.

Harry looked up, giving him a small smile. "Yeah, she'll be fine. You know Hermione, she knows exactly what to do, and she practically brought an apothecary with her…"

He swallowed, his hand brushing through Draco's hair once again. "I'm so sorry, Draco," he said quietly, his other hand stroking gently over Draco's newly-healed wrist. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't," Draco choked desperately, and then he lost it completely.

Harry was at his side immediately, his arms curled around him as Draco sobbed bitterly against his chest.

All the while, Harry murmured to him, even humming at one point, or at least it sounded that way to Draco.

"He saved us, Draco, he's a hero…I'll tell everybody that, don't worry." Harry's arms tightened, and his fingers traced up and down his spine . "I'm so glad you're alive," he whispered, kissing the top of his head.

Draco felt his eyelids growing increasingly heavy, and deciding it was pointless to fight the tug of sleep, let himself drift away.

**Reviews are always welcome!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews!**

When Harry was certain that Draco was asleep, he carefully eased away from him. Although a part of him would have liked nothing better than to stay as he was, cocooned protectively around Draco and giving in to his own exhaustion, he knew that speaking with Hermione was of utmost importance.

Harry sighed, reaching over to brush a strand of hair out of Draco's face, and studied him for a moment. He hadn't been exaggerating - he was grateful beyond words that Draco was alive. He shuddered at the memory of Draco's fingers breaking like small twigs, and gently brushed over the newly-healed digits. It could have been so much worse, and likely would have been if not for Lucius's interference. Draco would have been maimed and slowly killed; and Harry…Harry would have been powerless to stop it.

Harry shuddered again, forcing himself to not continue that line of thinking. There was no point dwelling on what could have been, especially when in the end, things were as they should be.

Well, perhaps not. Lucius Malfoy had died an unlikely hero, and Harry was still unsure how to feel about it. He was sorry for Draco, of course, but did one instance - or perhaps two instances, since Lucius had directed them to the Hufflepuff Cup - of doing the right thing atone him for everything? Maybe not, Harry decided, but ultimately love, the concept Voldemort was most unable to fathom, had saved them all.

Mind still reeling, Harry leaned over and planted one last kiss on Draco's cheek, mainly to assure himself that he was there, warm and alive. Draco stirred, mumbling incoherently, and Harry quickly drew back and left the tent before he could wake up.

"How is he?" Hermione asked quietly upon Harry entering the other side of the tent.

Sitting cross-legged to face Hermione and Ron, Harry sighed tiredly, rubbing at his eyes behind his glasses. "He's as can be expected, I guess. He's…it's going to be hard."

Hermione nodded, her eyes sympathetic. "And you, Harry? How are you after…after what you saw in the graveyard?"

Ron quickly looked away, looking slightly uncomfortable. Harry closed his eyes, briefly feeling as though he might be sick again.

"I'm fine," Harry said firmly after a moment, hoping that his sudden wave of nausea had gone unnoticed. "I really don't want to talk about it."

"But, Harry…"

"I said I'm fine, Hermione," Harry snapped. He regretted his harsh tone immediately, remembering the severity of Hermione's injuries from earlier.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I'm…I'm really glad you're okay…both of you. And even if we weren't able to get the Cup this time…"

"Who says we weren't?" Hermione asked smugly, pulling something out of her robe pocket. "_Engorio_."

Harry heard Ron's breath hitch at approximately the same time as his own - apparently, she'd been waiting to tell them both.

"I had to think fast, once I saw that horrible man coming at me and Draco, so I did the first thing I could think of, and I shrunk it." She held the Cup carefully balanced on the palm of her hand, appraising it critically.

"You're brilliant," Harry said happily, taking the Cup from her and staring at it himself. It honestly didn't look like much - sure, it was a nice cup, golden, with ornately carved handles and of course, a badger carving - but it hardly screamed evil as a piece of Voldemort's soul should.

"Draco…" Hermione began, paling slightly. "Draco nearly got himself killed over that thing, Harry. Voldemort was keeping it in a mausoleum, and only someone with a Dark Mark could access it. Then, it apparently required a rather large blood sacrifice…I'm surprised he didn't pass out."

Harry nodded, unsure of how he could ever convey his gratitude towards Draco. Without him, they wouldn't have had a chance to retrieve the Cup.

"I told you he was okay," Ron said, smiling slightly at Hermione. Hermione smiled back indulgently, rolling her eyes.

"If only you two would remember that…"

Ron had the decency to look bashful for a moment, but his expression was quickly overcome by worry as Hermione gingerly rotated her shoulder, grimacing slightly with the motion. She still looked far too pale.

"How is it?" he asked gently. Bringing his hand up, Ron made small, soothing circles on Hermione's arm, quite reminiscent of the ones Harry had so often used for Draco's comfort, and vice-versa. Hermione shot him a grateful look and leaned further into Ron's touch.

Harry felt a bit awkward then, that he should be witnessing such a private moment between his friends, and he began to stand up, intending to return to his side of the tent. After all, there would be plenty of time to discuss Dark Lords and stray pieces of their souls once they'd all had a good rest.

"Harry?" Hermione said questioningly, leaning forward. "What's wrong? Don't you think we should talk about what we're going to do with the Cup?"

"Nothing's wrong," Harry replied, smiling slightly. "We can talk later. I'm just really tired." He had to bite his tongue then, because he knew telling Hermione to take a break of her own would never work. He exaggerated a yawn instead, stretching his arms far above his head. "Think I'll take - " - another yawn - " - a nap."

Ron caught his eyes, apparently catching onto Harry's idea. He suddenly began rubbing his eyes so frantically that Hermione's eyes widened in concern, and Harry had to work hard not to laugh.

"You know," Ron started, "that sounds like a pretty decent idea, Harry. I'm feeling a bit peaky myself. Reckon it's all that excitement from earlier catching up with me."

Chuckling inwardly, Harry nodded in sympathy. "Yeah, you look awful, mate."

Following an incredibly loud yawn, Ron turned toward Hermione. "Well, since we're all going to be sleeping for awhile, you know, you might as well join in… wouldn't want you to get bored or anything."

Hermione laughed, shaking her head back and forth and rolling her eyes. Harry noticed she seemed to do that quite frequently around them.

"Alright, alright," she conceded, "I think I get the point. Honestly, you two."

Satisfied for the time being, Harry made to exit the tent when Hermione called behind him.

"Oh!" She reached into her bag, currently sitting beside her, and handed Harry two more vials of potion. "Give these to Draco when he wakes up."

Harry nodded and took the potions. He didn't know exactly what they were, but he trusted Hermione more than anyone for knowing what to do in, well, almost any situation, really. If she said Draco needed these, he would have them.

"Feel better, Ron," Harry teased as he closed the tent-flap behind him.

The sun was setting outside, barely visible now through the thick foliage of the forest. Nevertheless, it cast an eerie reddish glow to the clearing that reminded Harry all too sharply of Voldemort's smoldering eyes. He shivered slightly, pausing to stare into the darkening sky.

So much had happened lately. So much that Harry barely recognized his life in regards to what it had been only a year before. And today…

Harry shook his head. He wouldn't allow the day's events, particularly what had occurred in the graveyard, to overcome him now, not after everything that had happened. And because of everything that was still happening, that still would, he couldn't.

Drawing in a final lungful of chilly evening air, Harry stepped inside the tent and lay down beside Draco. Curling their bodies together tightly, Harry tugged the covers up, enclosing them in a cocoon of protection and warmth that he didn't intend to give up for several hours to come. It would be awhile before Draco awoke, Harry realized, but he fully intended to be there when he did.

But when Harry woke up several hours later, shivering from the cold, he instinctively curled towards Draco - only to find he wasn't there. Deciding that he'd probably stepped out to use the bathroom, Harry simply clutched the blankets more tightly around himself and attempted to drift back to sleep.

But sleep didn't come. Earlier, it had been so easy to give into his exhaustion, and besides, Draco had needed him. Now, however, it was nearly impossible to feel safe without a warm body next to his, and impossible to not see his parents' faces when he closed his eyes…

Harry sighed, pushing the covers off, and immediately regretting it when he was greeted by a blast of icy air. Cursing under his breath, he rose out of bed and after shoving his feet into his shoes, threw a blanket around his shoulders and headed outside.

Draco was sitting in his usual spot at their designated "kitchen," staring morosely up at the stars. He gave a slight start when a branch broke under Harry's foot, then visibly relaxed upon seeing Harry.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked him, sitting as close to Draco as their chairs would allow.

"I was hungry, actually," Draco said quietly. "But we didn't have any food on our side of the tent…it figures Weasley would be hoarding it."

Harry smiled lightly. "I can wake them for you, if you want." He reached over, tracing his fingers delicately over the back of Draco's neck. Draco gave a small murmur of pleasure and leaned back further. Harry smiled again and kneaded harder, causing Draco to roll his head forward and bare his neck completely.

"Mmm, not necessary…I can wait a couple of hours. Would rather not subject you to the sight of Weasley starkers, anyway. I'd rather not know if the carpet matches the drapes…"

Harry snorted. "Only you would think of that." He continued kneading Draco's neck for a moment before moving down to his shoulders and working at the knots there. Draco sighed loudly, relaxing completely and bonelessly against Harry's incessant hands.

"So, what brings you out here this time of night?" Draco asked, sounding slightly breathless as Harry's thumbs pressed at the first knob of his spinal cord. "Lower, please," he murmured.

Harry acquiesced, and was rewarded by a near grunt from Draco. "I couldn't sleep," he said, unable to stop himself from shrugging. "We did go to bed awfully early."

"Yeah," Draco said softly, sounding somber once again. He leaned forward, causing Harry's motions to cease. "Turn just a little - I'll do you next."

"You don't have to…" Harry protested weakly as Draco's hands began caressing the nape of his neck. "Your fingers -"

"Are completely healed, thank you," Draco cut him off. "And no, I don't have to. But I want to."

"Hermione gave me two potions to give to you," Harry began, unable to suppress a groan as Draco's fingers eased away a knot in his shoulder. "Maybe you should take them."

Draco's fingers stilled for a moment. "I think I'll be okay for a few minutes," he said wryly before continuing.

"But, Draco…"

"Stop," Draco said, his voice gone slightly hoarse. "I know what you're doing, and it's not that I don't appreciate it, but I need to deal with things my own way." Harry felt Draco drape an arm around his chest, and he leaned back against him before he could think better of it, the angle slightly awkward due to their separate chairs.

"Tell me how you're doing," Draco said quietly, his voice muffled against Harry's neck. "I won't believe you if you say you're fine."

Harry gulped, closing his eyes. "I'm okay," he said shakily. "Just…okay." Draco's arms tightened around him, and Harry reveled in it for a moment, the sensation good beyond words.

He gave himself a mental shake, pulling away slightly and looking Draco in the eyes. "But I'm not the one who lost a father, Draco," Harry said quietly, reaching for his hand. Draco stared at him for several moments, until tears swam into his eyes and he looked away, gulping.

"I'm sorry…"

"No! Don't be sorry! You're right…my father is dead," he said the words steadily, even as his voice broke slightly. "But you…you're alive, Harry, and I intend to keep you that way. I can't help my father, but I can help you."

"Draco…"

"Don't! I don't want to talk about how…how I should be with my mother right now…how she'll probably be next…don't you dare start thinking that your problems don't have any validity! The next thing I know, you'll get sloppy from it, and…and he'll kill you! Harry," he said desperately, pulling Harry against him roughly.

"Don't you dare fucking die on me, Harry Potter," he said against his neck, and Harry could feel tears soaking into his shirt. "Don't you fucking dare. If there's an afterlife, I'd find you there one day, and I'd never fucking give you a moment's peace."

"I wouldn't want you to."

"It's not fucking funny!" Draco said fiercely.

"I never said it was," Harry said as soothingly as possible. "Look, Draco, I definitely don't want to die, okay? But worrying about it is…counterproductive. And as for my…problems…I'm not denying their validity, but I have Ron and Hermione to talk to when I need to. Not that I don't trust you," he said hastily, resting his head on Draco's shoulder. "But it would just make me feel better if I knew you didn't have to worry about mine on top of yours."

"Harry," Draco said softly, his voice still full of tears.

"Hmm?"

"I love you." He pulled him closer, as Harry felt himself freeze at the words. "I do. I have for some time…I wanted you to know."

Feeling as if his heart might explode through his chest, Harry could do nothing but nod. He wanted to say something, anything, even return the sentiment, but found himself unable to say anything at all. Later, undoubtedly, he would kick himself for it.

But Draco didn't seem to mind, merely sighing contentedly and kissing Harry's neck. Maybe, Harry marveled, some gestures were meant as gifts and nothing more. Relieved, he kissed Draco gently on the lips.

"I suppose I should go drink those potions now," Draco said wryly after they had each pulled away from the other and were sitting silently in their respective chairs. Their hands, however, remained firmly clasped.

"Nah, it can wait a few minutes," Harry said with a slight smile. "We should at least watch the sunrise, since we're up."

Draco nodded and settled back into his chair, rubbing Harry's knuckles with his thumb, continuing as the sky was steadily painted with colors of increasing vibrancy. Harry closed his eyes, letting the colors, along with the comfort of Draco's presence, wash over him.

* * *

The following six days were spent in rest and planning. Wonderful as it might have been to charge hardily forward, hurrying along the destruction of the Horcruxes, and therefore Voldemort, the simple truth remained that they were all too tired.

Over the course of that week, Harry noticed many things. Some of them pertained to his three companions, some to himself, but they had all started the morning after the graveyard.

Hermione had been more hurt than she'd let in on, for one thing. As always, she'd trudged ahead, making sure everyone else was alright before even admitting how she herself had come precariously close to collapse. That morning, when Harry peeked in Ron and Hermione's side of the tent to ask for some food, he'd found Hermione sleeping soundly, but burning with fever. With a near-equal mixture of irritation and fondness, Harry had woken Ron and together they'd tended to Hermione until she seemed on the proper road to recovery. She'd been undoubtedly bashful later on, admitting she should've taken better care of herself, but when Ron's hen-like cluckings - which were made every time she moved further than a few inches from bed - grew more frequent than his talking, she stubbornly refused to lay still any longer. From that point on, she'd thrown herself into research; into the Dark book from the Smith's, into the Horcruxes, and just research in general. And with each passing day, Harry saw his friend regain her strength and confidence.

Ron was a… slightly different story. Not to say that he grew weaker or less confident during their brief respite, but he did seem _different_, somehow. And, at first, Harry had absolutely no idea why. Was he quieter? No, Harry surmised, watching him on evening; he still babbled on just as much, be it from serious discussion to making ridiculous jokes. But there was something. Finally, on their third day of rest, Harry had his answer.

It was an accident really, that allowed Harry to figure it out. Well, that and an overheard conversation between Ron and Draco.

Since Godric's Hollow, Ron had been keeping a careful distance from Draco, obviously allowing him space to mourn, and by implication, showing a quiet respect of what Lucius had done. Harry loved and trusted Ron, he really did, but he honestly didn't think he'd be able to go much longer without making some sort of insensitive comment. So, that day, when Harry had seen Ron duck into the side of the tent where Draco was reading by himself, he'd hurried to intervene before the two of them got out of hand. Arriving at the tent to hear quiet conversation rather than a shouting match however, Harry had paused and listened to what was said.

" - ahead and talk, Weasley," Draco was saying in a bored tone. "I won't bite." After a pause, "not unless you ask, of course."

Ron, surprisingly, had not taken the bait. "Well, it's just that… I'm really sorry about your dad, to start with. I mean, really! I'm not trying to make jokes or anything, alright?" He said all that in a rush of words that Harry was sure had left him red in the face.

"Thanks," Draco replied after a few seconds, in a slightly less bored tone than before. "Was that all?"

Ron must have shaken his head no, because in the next second he was talking again, though this time in such a quiet voice that Harry had to strain to hear him.

"I didn't really get it before," Ron spoke softly. "I mean, I'd heard about V-Voldemort since I was born, of course. And then all the stuff we've been through with Harry, and how he hurt Hermione when we were at the Manor… but I'd never really seen him, you know? Not until the other day…"

Silence.

Ron continued after a moment. "… I get it now. After seeing how he treated you and Harry that day, the threats he made, I… I get why Harry trusts you so much. I didn't get it before, but I do now."

The confusion Harry felt probably showed on Draco's face as well, because Ron kept talking.

"You must really…" Harry heard him take a deep breath. "You must really _love _Harry. To have gone through all of that, and I'm sure I don't know the half of it, and still be willing to risk yourself again and again. And Harry… well, I reckon he must really love you, too," - Harry felt a brief twinge at that, as he hadn't yet reciprocated Draco's words. "…because I saw him when You-Know-Who said he would kill you unless Harry gave himself up… And I get it now, because if it'd been Hermione hanging in the air, I would've looked the same way."

One could only imagine the look of sheer disbelief that Draco must have displayed at that moment, but Harry had a pretty good idea of it when Ron laughed after a moment of utter silence.

"Has Granger placed you under the Imperius curse?" Draco managed, sounding slightly strained.

"Calm down, Malfoy," Ron said with another chuckle, "I promise, I'm having a real revelation here, so don't go knocking it down with your smart-ass comments."

At that point, when Harry heard Draco spluttering for a response, he'd decided to intervene and stop them both from ruining the moment with defensive insults. Ron had left with a small smile, and Draco merely glanced at him with raised eyebrows, probably wondering why Harry was grinning so widely.

But that was the answer to Harry's question, and not for Draco to know.

Ron hadn't changed, he was still the same person Harry had known since before setting foot on the Hogwart's Express. But he had grown up a little.

* * *

During their rest, Draco counted time less by days than by how many times he'd experienced the spell on his Mark, and that number was three. It was slightly more bearable, however, since Hermione knocked him out each time and left him to rest for as long as needed. And while the pain upon waking was still excruciating, it was nothing compared to being awake and completely aware, as he'd been the first time. And it didn't hurt, of course, that Harry took it upon himself to pamper Draco as much as he wanted on those days, from bringing him snacks (including Butterbeer, which Ron had seen fit to bring) in bed, to giving him massages and lazy kisses which inevitably led to far more pleasurable endeavors. No, it didn't hurt at all.

And though Draco knew it was only the calm before what would undoubtedly be a horrific storm, the rest had done them all good, particularly Harry and himself, for aside from their brief respite at Bill and Fleur's, they had had little time to recover from their ordeal at the Manor. And Hermione, who had had the utter _nerve_ to conceal her illness from them, certainly had needed it as well. Draco remembered a time when he had only thought of her as the Mudblood Granger, and wondered when exactly he had changed. And Ron…Ron was okay, most of the time. For a Weasley.

"I think we need to destroy the Horcrux today," Harry said that morning at breakfast, as if destroying a piece of Voldemort's soul were an everyday occurrence. Then again, Draco thought wryly, this _was_ life with Harry Potter.

"Do you think you're up for that, Harry?" Hermione asked worriedly, her brow furrowing slightly in concern. "Destroying the locket was…not pleasant."

Draco shivered slightly, imagining darkly how unpleasant encountering the Dark Lord's soul might be…even as a mere fragment.

"I wasn't expecting it to be, Hermione," Harry said quietly. "Just meeting Tom Riddle from the diary back in second year was bad enough…and that was his first Horcrux. Slughorn told me last year that making a Horcrux rips a person's soul more and more with each one, so it can only get worse."

Draco actually knew what Harry was referring to, as Harry had filled him in on many of the trio's adventures starting in first year. And while Draco was grateful to _finally_ know as much as Ron and Hermione, the knowledge was slightly bittersweet, as it left him with sharp regret that he hadn't been a part of it.

He also knew, vaguely, that the Muggles Harry had lived with had treated him horribly, but Harry never went into detail, and Draco never asked. Although he did hope that Harry would be able to talk about it with him, someday.

Mostly, though, he just wished their brief rest could last and last.

"Draco?" Harry asked, nudging his arm gently. "Did you hear me?"

"No, sorry," Draco said with a shrug. He smirked. "I was distracted by Weasley's breakfast, which he seems determined to show us all, judging by how wide his mouth stays open when he chews…"

"Ron!" Hermione said indignantly.

"I have allergy problems!" Ron said hotly, scowling at Draco. "It makes it hard for me to breathe through my nose sometimes, okay?"

Draco smirked one last time, turning his attention from Hermione's lecture on potions to relieve allergies, back to Harry, who rolled his eyes.

"You just can't resist, can you?" Harry said, his lips twitching slightly, as if not to smile.

"No," he said honestly. "And admit it: you love it." _You love _me, Draco thought, almost pleadingly, in his head.

"Life would certainly be more boring without you two bickering at each other. Although some might say it's a sign of repressed sexual attraction…" Harry smirked, making Draco wonder if he'd rubbed off on him more than he'd thought.

"Potter!" Draco groaned. "Don't make me sick, please…"

Harry just laughed. "That's what you get," he said lightly, shoving Draco once more on the shoulder.

"Anyway," Harry continued, his expression sobering. "What I was asking before…I want you to be with me when I destroy the Horcrux."

"Really?" Draco asked softly.

Harry smiled. "Well, yeah. Ron and Hermione agreed with me, since they destroyed the locket…you and I can destroy this one. Of course, if you don't want to…I understand."

Draco took his hand. "Of course I'll do it," he said softly. "I'm certainly not letting you do it alone. Gryffindor idiot," he added softly, smiling.

And that's how they ended up, a few hours later, standing in a clearing near the campsite. The Hufflepuff Cup sat innocently on the ground in front of them, and in Harry's hands rested the Sword of Gryffindor. That, in particular, Draco continued to eye with a fair amount of disdain. Harry rolled his eyes and shifted the heavy metal for a better grip.

Before coming out there, they'd discussed what might happen in great detail, judging from both past experience and speculation. And what it came down to, in the end, was that whoever actually destroyed the Horcrux was in the most amount of danger. Draco hadn't seemed thrilled with the prospect of more dangerous activities, but when Harry had explained that only a "true Gryffindor" could wield the Sword… well, he hadn't been thrilled about that either.

"Are you ready?" Harry asked, not taking his eyes off the Cup.

"That bloody piece of metal better work," Draco grumbled, with a sneer at the Sword. It sparkled primly in return.

Harry swallowed. "It's destroyed two Horcruxes already. There's no reason this one should be any different."

Draco snorted. "Yes, because we all know the Dark Lord likes to keep things routine. So much easier that way."

Ignoring him, Harry raised the Sword above his head. He hesitated for just a moment, imagining his hands turning blackened and withered as Dumbledore's once had, imagining how running his fingers down Draco's skin would never again be possible. Did he really want to give that up? Wouldn't letting someone else take of this be alright? Harry shook his head, banishing the thoughts from his mind. There was no one else. The scar left on his forehead sixteen years ago made sure of that.

With every ounce of strength possible, he sliced downwards.

A flash of brilliant light erupted from the Cup, and Harry yelled in pain and surprise. He felt heat searing his body, so hot it could melt flesh and bone, could dissolve him into nothing but a puddle of liquid. He screamed, dropping to the ground. And then, just as suddenly, the heat and the pain were gone.

Breathing harshly, Harry looked up. His breath left him completely. The light hadn't vanished at all; it was all around him, above, below, beside. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, hoping this was merely a leftover effect of the flash, but when he looked again, there was still nothing but a soft, shining glow all around.

_Am I dead? _

The prospect of that hurt more than anything. Had Draco been right in thinking this Horcrux would be so much different? Had destroying it actually… killed him?

"Hello, Harry."

For the first time in seven years, Harry Potter was relieved to hear Voldemort's voice.

_Not dead. Not dead, _he chanted over and over in his mind, scrambling quickly to his feet. This was merely another obstacle of the Cup, nothing more.

"So, what is all this?" Harry asked… Voldemort. Yes, definitely Voldemort, not Tom Riddle anymore. His skin wasn't quite as dead-looking, his nose not yet completely vanished, his eyes not as blood-red as they were in reality, but this was the Dark Lord at a point much further than Harry had last seen him in the Pensieve, asking Dumbledore for a teaching job at Hogwarts.

Voldemort grinned. "All of this? Why, don't you recognize your own mind, Harry? This is all that's left of you," he purred, steepling his fingers together across his abdomen. "Do you even know how long it's been? What you've done?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, refusing to panic. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, Harry," Voldemort gloated, "how you've helped me these past years. You see, when you tried to destroy my Horcrux, you allowed that part of my soul to pass into yours."

"I don't believe you," Harry hissed, clenching his fists.

Voldemort shook his head. "Now, now. Wait until you've heard the rest." He began slowly circling Harry as he talked. "I am much stronger than my teenage self you met several years ago, much more in control of those I possess. You, little Harry, essentially _became me_. You killed your friends first, of course. And then you brought your lover to me."

Harry felt a sheen of cold sweat break out across his skin. "You're lying!" he shouted.

"Am I?" Voldemort laughed. "Do you want to know what you did next, Harry? You watched your Malfoy be tortured, you watched him be raped, over and over and over. And then, only in the end, when it didn't seem he could be broken anymore, you joined in."

A heavy, immovable weight had settled on Harry's chest by that point and he sunk to his knees. "You're lying," he said weakly.

Voldemort crouched next to him. "I can show you images if you want, Harry. I can even give you the entire memory actually. You enjoyed it so much at the time, I just couldn't deny you now." He reached a hand towards Harry's scar.

Wind abruptly whipped across Harry's face, so hard that it actually stung. He looked up, past Voldemort, and saw Draco.

"Didn't I tell you something bad would happen?" he drawled, crossing his arms.

Voldemort growled and whirled around. "You will not destroy me!"

Realization hit Harry then, and he rose swiftly to his feet.

"This is _your _mind, Harry," Draco said, with such intensity that Harry had no choice but to believe him. "You can make whatever you want happen. The Cup's gone. If you get rid of him here, it'll be over."

Voldemort screamed. "_No!" _He charged Harry. But Harry, aware and in control once more, raised the Gryffindor Sword, even if it was only the metaphorical one, and stabbed Voldemort through the heart.

The light dissolved in the same manner as it had commenced, leaving Harry gasping on the forest floor, only vaguely aware that Draco held him in his arms.

"He's gone?" Harry whispered.

Draco smiled slightly, brushing back some hair from Harry's forehead. "He's gone."

Harry nodded slowly and sat up, wincing as the motion made his head throb quite spectacularly. He glanced at the Cup, which now lay in several broken shards, and then back at Draco. He frowned.

"What happened?"

The smile left Draco's face. "After you destroyed the Cup, there was a flash of light, and when I could see again, you were lying on the ground." He swallowed, lowering his eyes. "I thought you were dead."

Harry grabbed Draco's hand and held it tightly. "So did I, for a minute there."

Draco took a breath and continued. "But then you started talking to yourself, in your sleep, and it didn't take me long to figure out who you were talking to. And… I didn't know what else to do… So I used Legilimency on you."

Draco still hadn't looked back up and Harry thought he understood why, now.

"Hey," he said softly. "You were pretty impressive, you know. I had no idea you could do that."

Slowly, Draco raised his head. Then he smiled slightly, though his face was flushed. "Neither did I," he admitted.

"You saved my life," Harry whispered, wrapping his arms around Draco and resting his head on Draco's shoulder. Draco's heart was beating fast, or perhaps he was only feeling his own. It was rather hard to tell at the moment.

"Yeah. I guess I did, didn't I?" Draco asked softly, a smile in his voice. He squeezed Harry hard, so hard he felt his breath catch, then pulled away, punching Harry lightly on the shoulder.

"What was that for?" Harry asked, feigning shock.

"For being an idiot Gryffindor, as usual, and nearly getting yourself killed."

Harry just grinned, feeling a relief wash over him that was nearly palpable, remembering the brief horror and helplessness that had gone through him when Voldemort had told him what had happened to Draco, and to Ron and Hermione. But especially to Draco.

"Someone's got to do it," Harry said with a shrug, wincing slightly as his head gave a sudden ferocious twinge. He inhaled sharply in spite of himself, squeezing his eyes shut as his head throbbed violently.

He heard Draco mutter something about idiot Gryffindors again, but the words were fond, and the hand brushing his hair back was soothing.

"Let's get you back and see if Granger's got any headache potions," he said quietly, and before Harry could protest, he'd cast a lightening charm on Harry, lifted him up, and began carrying him back to the campsite.

"I'm not helpless, you know," Harry said weakly, positioning his arms behind Draco's neck. He winced again as the movement caused his head to throb.

"Shut it, Potter," Draco said fondly. "You fucking hero."

Harry imagined he must have passed out briefly after that, because the next thing he knew, Hermione was hovering over him, and he was in bed. Judging by the amount of sunlight, he imagined it to be mid-afternoon.

"Where's Draco?" Harry asked, sitting up. He flushed slightly as he realized that under the blankets, he was clad in only his boxers - hopefully it had been Draco, and not Hermione, who had undressed him.

Hermione sighed. "He's making more headache potions - apparently I used quite a few the other day, and you just used the last one. He wasn't sure if you'd need more or not…he's really worried about you, you know."

"I know," Harry said softly. "But he shouldn't be - I feel fine, now." He grinned, flopping onto his back. "We did it, Hermione. We're one Horcrux closer to getting rid of Voldemort forever."

Hermione smiled and mussed his hair. "Yes, you were quite impressive, Harry. Draco told me how you put a sword through Voldemort's heart – well, a fragment of him, anyway…"

"I couldn't have done it without Draco, though. Voldemort tried to trick me, keep me there with him. If it hadn't been for Draco, I'd probably be dead."

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "I really hope that the others aren't this difficult to destroy. Maybe next time all four of us should be present."

Harry found it rather optimistic of Hermione to already be planning for the next Horcrux, when at the moment, they still were clueless as to what it could be, but he nodded nonetheless.

"Up so soon, I see?" Draco awkwardly closed the tent flap, his arms laden with potion bottles. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Draco, I'm fine. My headache is completely gone…"

Draco crouched beside him and set the bottles down, then put his hand over Harry's forehead.

"You're freezing!" Harry hissed, pulling away.

Now Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, it is very nearly winter outside, Harry. I cast a warming charm in here, when you were passed out from battling Voldemort…"

Harry snorted. "You make it sound much more dramatic than it was."

"It _was _pretty damn dramatic," Hermione interjected primly. She sighed when both sets of eyes looked quizzically at her. "I'd better go back outside and assist Ron. He's supposed to be starting on dinner, and I imagine he might need some help."

"Granger," Draco moaned. "You're trying to kill us, aren't you? _Weasley_ cook dinner? Weasley? Remember how he used to blow up his cauldron in Potions class?"

"Actually, that was Neville," Harry said blithely.

Hermione just rolled her eyes and began walking out. "You should take another potion, Harry," she said, just as she reached the door. "Draco, I give you permission to shove it down his throat if he has any problems with it."

They both snickered at that, causing Hermione to sigh in exasperation and close the flap completely.

"I suppose I'd better take one," Harry said in resignation, after Hermione had left. "If you really think I should…"

"I do," Draco said simply, popping the cork out of a bottle and offering it to Harry.

Harry eyed the potion distastefully. "Well, bottoms up." Wrinkling his nose, he managed to down the entire bottle, fighting the urge to gag the entire time.

"Ugh. It tasted horrible," Harry said afterwards, wiping his mouth on his bare arm.

"What, did you expect it to taste like Chocolate Frogs?" Draco asked with a smirk.

"Why, do you have any?" Harry asked hopefully, then laughed at Draco's expression. He reached up, grabbing Draco behind the neck, and pulled him down on the bed. Draco fell on top of Harry with a small squeak of surprise.

"You squeaked!" Harry said with a bale of laughter. "You fucking squeaked!"

"I most certainly did _not_," Draco said indignantly, apparently trying hard not to smile. Then, smiling won out, and he buried his face in Harry's chest.

"Hey…" Harry said, lifting his face up by the chin. Draco's eyes met his solemnly, and Harry was close enough to make out the individual flecks of gold and green in his otherwise grey irises.

"I really couldn't have done it without you…" Harry started to say, but was cut off by Draco lunging forward and kissing him.

Harry moaned against his mouth, bringing a hand up to cup Draco's cheek, his other hand gripping his shoulder. Draco sighed contentedly, leaning into his touch, then reached under the blankets, causing Harry to gasp.

"Draco, do we have time - "

"Sure we do." Draco pointed his wand at the door and muttered something, then turned his attention back to Harry. Shifting slightly, he pushed away all the blankets, leaving Harry shivering slightly as his boxer-clad body was exposed to the chilly temperature. But he wasn't cold for long, as Draco was covering him bodily, lavishing kisses wherever was possible.

Harry groaned, sliding his fingers under Draco's shirt and tracing over the skin beneath. Draco shuddered, ceasing his ministrations on Harry for a moment to shrug out of his shirt, and remove his pants and boxers. His erection was hot against Harry's thigh when he leaned back down to kiss him.

"Harry," he moaned softly, when Harry cupped his buttocks and kneaded them. Draco reached between them in the next instant, and the next thing Harry knew, Draco was reaching under the waistband of his boxers and first squeezing, then stroking, his cock.

Now Harry shuddered, his mind going deliciously blank save for the sensation at hand. However, he was somehow cognizant enough to lift his hips slightly in order for Draco to remove his boxers entirely.

Draco began kissing him again, more fervently than before. He gave a slight sob when their cocks rubbed together, which was enough of a signal to Harry's pleasure-muddled brain for him to reach for Draco's cock. It twitched slightly in his grasp, and Draco moaned wantonly, going still for an instant as Harry stroked his erection.

Then, he pulled away slightly, flushed and panting.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, quite aware of how breathy his voice sounded.

"Harry, I want to…oh, God, I want to…" Harry felt a finger trace over and then under his balls, and then…lower, the touch feather-light and tentative.

Harry drew in his breath at the unexpected sensation, and then once more as he felt a slick finger gently breach him.

He froze. This was the furthest they had ever gone, after all. "Draco…"

"We don't have to, if you don't want to," Draco said softly, withdrawing his finger.

Harry gulped, quite aware that his face was beet red. "It's…I do…it's just, this can't be very clean, can it?"

Draco laughed, though his eyes were still cloudy with lust. "Harry, we're wizards. It's as clean as I want it to be. Secondly, at the moment, I could care less."

Harry nodded, feeling as though his entire body was blushing. "Okay," he said shakily. "But you know…I've never…"

Draco smiled at him and kissed the side of Harry's mouth. "I know," he said softly. "Neither have I." He began tracing softly over Harry's ribs, probably to relax him, and kissed him thoroughly for a good five minutes. Finally, when Harry was trembling from lust once more, Draco nimbly kissed down the length of Harry's body, planting kisses on his inner thighs before taking Harry's cock into his mouth. Harry moaned and threw his head back, feeling precariously close to coming at any moment.

But then the finger was back, quickly followed by another, and Harry fought off the urge to freeze once again.

"Relax, Harry," Draco said, kissing his stomach. Harry nodded and tried, really tried, but it was just so _weird. _

But then…then Draco was nudging at _something_, something buried so deep within him that he hadn't known of its existence, and Harry forgot how weird everything was, and instead gasped at a pleasure so intense he was nearly seeing stars.

When Draco finally entered him, he gasped for an entirely different reason, causing Draco to stop abruptly and whisper soothingly to him for a second.

"I'm okay," he said, hoping he sounded more reassuring than he felt at the moment. It did fucking hurt, but it wasn't as though Draco were _trying _to hurt him, and if he managed to hit against that…_thing_ again, then all pain would be forgotten.

Draco nodded, his face pursed in concentration, then began slowly moving. It continued to hurt, quite terribly, for several moments, and Harry was nearly ready to ask Draco to stop, but then _it_ happened again, and he gasped as renewed pleasure coursed through his body.

"Is that it?" Draco managed to gasp, adjusting Harry's legs over his shoulders and angling slightly.

Harry nodded, wanting to ask what exactly _it _was, but all he managed was a weak, "harder."

Draco complied, and it took merely two sharp thrusts coupled with Draco squeezing his cock, and Harry was coming, coming harder than he'd ever thought possible, sticky liquid spurting between him and Draco.

"Fuck, Harry…" Draco practically sobbed, moaning into Harry's shoulder as he came as well, a moment later.

Neither moved for a moment, until finally Draco moved his head from Harry's shoulder and kissed him gently on the lips.

"That was…wow," Harry said ineloquently.

Draco laughed. "Yeah." He reached down, pulling carefully out of Harry, and then laid beside him, throwing an arm haphazardly across Harry's chest and closing his eyes.

"Ron and Hermione are probably waiting for us," Harry said reluctantly, after a moment.

"Let them," Draco said, curling even closer against Harry. "I think we've earned it."

"I'm sure they've figured out something by now," Harry mused with a small smile.

"Oh good. Can I tell Weasley, then? I haven't seen him properly freaked out in a long time…"

Harry snorted. "Go for it."

"And Harry?"

"Yeah."

"Next time, I want you to fuck me. I'm a selfish Slytherin, you know, and I hate to see somebody else having all the fun."

Harry smiled. "You're hardly selfish, you know."

Draco was quiet for a moment. "Harry?"

"Yes, Draco."

"I love you."

Harry pulled him closer and kissed the top of his head. "I know."


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! **

Rather early the next morning, Draco sat outside, the Dark magic book in one hand and a cup of steaming coffee in the other. He sipped delicately, finished reading about a particularly gruesome way to ensure one's spouse never became impregnated by another man, and turned the page.

"Good morning, Draco," Hermione said from behind him, coming alongside and taking a seat. She stretched her hands over the fire and yawned deeply.

"Morning," he replied, still reading.

Hermione yawned again. "You're up early. I thought you'd be sleeping in today."

Draco glanced up, unable to stop the smirk from appearing on his face. Hermione blushed slightly.

"You _know _that's not what I was talking about," she muttered.

Draco chuckled. "Right." He smiled to himself a few moments longer, the memory of last night's activities still fresh and deliciously vivid in his mind. In truth, he had expected to be more tired. He _was _a bit sore, in the same manner as Harry, he imagined, but the sensation wasn't altogether unpleasant. Actually, if anything, every time Draco discovered a new twinge of ache, he was simply reminded of why and, more importantly, who. And remembering that was never a bad thing.

Hermione noted his grin with an embarrassed smile of her own and quickly set to fixing herself some tea.

"What do you think you're going to do after the war?" she asked suddenly.

Caught completely off-guard, Draco stared at her for a moment. "What?"

"I mean, will you go back to school? Or travel?" She shrugged. "I'm just curious. I mean, the first thing I have to do is go find my parents and restore their memories."

"Restore their memories?" Draco continued to stare. "What on earth for?"

Hermione's eyes widened and she laughed slightly. "Oh, I forgot you didn't know. Um, I Obliviated them, actually. Because I didn't want to them to be in danger here, being Muggles and all, but they never would've left knowing what I was doing."

Draco nodded silently, gazing into his cup. "I hadn't thought about that, really." He caught Hermione's questioning glance and sighed. "About all the Muggle relatives that might be targeted. It's not like _I_ have any, obviously." Draco flushed. "I mean, I just…"

"Draco," Hermione said, touching his arm softly. "It's alright. I know you didn't mean anything by it. And besides, you're in no more control of your heritage than I am."

Draco nodded again. He'd never really thought of it like that before, but he supposed she was right.

"Well," he continued, returning to her original question, "if I'm not thrown in Azkaban for being a Death Eater, I suppose I'll return to school, if I'm allowed. That is, if there is still a school."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That was a terribly optimistic answer, Draco. Thank you."

Draco scowled a bit as he finished off the remains of his coffee. After setting his cup on the ground, he crossed his arms across his stomach and pondered bringing up another subject, one that would likely be even less pleasant. Hermione, however, noticed a lot, probably more so than anyone realized, and therefore saved him the embarrassment by asking him first.

"Was there something else you wanted to talk about?" she said casually.

"Are you always this nosy?" Draco snapped without looking up. Hermione patiently waited.

"Fine," he said, then took a deep breath. "I was wondering… what do you know about Harry's family, Granger? Not his parents, of course, but about the Muggles who raised him?"

Hermione was silent for quite a while. It was so long, in fact, that Draco began to wonder if she simply wasn't going to respond. But then, finally, she did.

"I don't know a lot of details," she said quietly, her voice low and serious, "and that's because Harry's never wanted to talk about them. And from what I do know, I can't say I blame him. But…" she shook her head. "Harry's never had a real family, not in the way that you and I did. So, I guess you could say we became his family. Ron and I, and now, you too."

Draco smirked slightly. "I like to think I hold a slightly different position in Harry's life than you or Ron. Well, several different positions actually…"

Predictably, Hermione rolled her eyes once more. "Point taken. But, you do understand, right?"

Draco nodded and gazed into the fire, contemplating her words. It was no more than he'd already figured out for himself, and none of it surprised him. For all the mouthing off he did, Draco was also very observant of people, and Harry Potter had ranked number one on his scale of people to insult and annoy for many years. But, unlike those who created insults out of thin air - Weasley, for example - Draco had always preferred to have pre-loaded ammunition, and that meant knowing his enemies' weaknesses, knowing what would hurt them the most. He'd never heard much about Harry's background, no more than anyone who read the _Daily Prophet _at least, but even as a first year, Draco had quickly latched onto the fact that Harry clung steadfastly to his friends. He'd also known that one of the quickest ways to insult Harry, in the past, had been to target his parents. Draco had never even bothered going after the Muggles, since it was so plainly obvious Harry cared nothing for them, detested them even. Lately, he'd learned a bit more of the why though, and it was no longer meant to be used as ammunition. Now, it simply left Draco feeling terribly sad.

"I get it, Granger. Thanks."

Hermione eyed him knowingly but said nothing.

He did get it, he really did. Other people may have been hurt, or even angry, when their lover seemed unwilling to return a sentiment such as, 'I love you'. But Draco wasn't other people. Harry did love him, he knew that, and it wasn't that Harry didn't want to say it. He just… couldn't. The Muggles had damaged him in that respect, Draco supposed. So if there was anything to be angry about, it was that. Harry would say it if he could, someday, and Draco, for once in his life, would not mind the waiting.

"What about you?" Draco asked Hermione, vying to return the conversation to less awkward ground. "What are your grand plans for the future?"

Hermione began an avid explanation of which NEWTS she would like to complete then, face flushing with excitement at the mere prospect of homework, it seemed. And Draco couldn't begrudge her of that, really - at the moment, returning to a life consisting of nothing more than the tedium of schoolwork sounded nicer than he cared to admit. Draco frowned slightly, pondering on how distant of a possibility that was; for him, anyway.

Hermione touched his arm again, causing him to look up in surprise.

"You'll be able to take your NEWTS, too," Hermione said earnestly. She smiled slightly. "Who else would I have to study Arithmancy and Ancient Runes with? I love Harry and Ron dearly, but neither of them has ever been any help in that respect."

"We'll see," Draco said in a non-committal tone.

Hermione's expression sobered. "Harry will never let you go to Azkaban, Draco," she said quietly.

"I doubt Harry would have much say in the matter, Granger," Draco said softly. He shrugged. "Believe it or not, but I'm not terribly worried about that at the moment."

Hermione nodded, although something in her eyes let him know the issue was far from resolved. "Good," she said simply, and was silent for a few moments.

"Is there any more coffee?" she asked next, and after he poured more for the both of them, they sat in surprisingly comfortable silence for some time, each sipping quietly and lost in their own thoughts.

Draco was unable to suppress a smile when Harry finally joined them, his hair tousled and sticking up in every direction. Draco could only hope that Harry had cast a light cleaning charm on himself, as they'd both gone to sleep rather…sticky.

"Good morning," Harry mumbled, taking his usual seat beside Draco and scowling slightly as he squinted at the sunlight.

"I see you're your usual charming self this morning?" Draco said with a smirk, handing Harry a cup of coffee and a scone.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled again.

"I'm going to go wake Ron," Hermione said suddenly, rising to her feet. "If it's late enough for Harry to be up, then by all means, Ron should be up as well." She sauntered off, leaving Draco and Harry alone.

"So, I was thinking," Draco said after a few minutes. Hermione had yet to return, and Draco shuddered slightly as his admittedly dirty mind dredged up multiple scenarios to explain it. He cringed inwardly; he could readily admit that he liked Hermione, maybe even considered her a friend, and Ron wasn't _that_ bad, but he never, ever wanted to think of the two of them shagging.

"Amazing, that," Harry said wryly. Apparently the caffeine had finally managed to wake his brain, and with it, his ability to spar verbally with Draco.

Draco pushed him lightly on the shoulder, rolling his eyes. "Prat. I'm serious." He swallowed. "Well…"

Harry blinked, his formerly playful expression morphing into that of concern. "What's wrong?"

At that moment, naturally, Hermione and Ron finally emerged from the tent, Ron's arms crossed as if he were a sullen five year old.

"You're not my mother, Hermione," Ron was saying to her. "I can get up when I bloody well want to…"

"I should hope I'm not your mother, Ronald," Hermione said haughtily, flipping her hair as they sat across from Harry and Draco. "Unless your impulses are more Oedipal than you've led me to believe…"

"Bloody speak English to me!" Ron muttered petulantly, hugging his arms to his body and scowling. Then, as if noticing Harry and Draco for the first time, he gave them a curious look. "Is something going on?"

"Er…" Harry said.

Draco sighed. "Yes. I…I had an idea. I'm not sure if you're going to like it," he added quietly to Harry.

"I trust you," Harry said simply, as if that were reason enough to agree with him.

"We all do," Hermione chimed in, and even Ron gave a slight grunt of agreement.

"Yes, well…" Draco swallowed nervously, unsure of why their approval - specifically, Harry's approval - of his plan was suddenly so important to him.

He glanced between the three faces, all of them curious and waiting patiently for him to begin. "We have no idea what the next Horcrux is," he stated matter-of-factly.

"We're pretty sure Nagini is one," Ron suggested hopefully.

"It's a good possibility," Draco agreed haltingly. "But remember, Nagini is close to the Dark Lord at all times. It's not as though we can just march up to him and kill her…not yet, anyway. When we've taken care of the others, then, yes. I suppose we'll have to"

Harry frowned. "How are we supposed to figure out the others, then? We've just been lucky so far - someone's always helped us figure out what and where…" Harry trailed off, squeezing Draco's hand at the inadvertent mention of Lucius.

"Someone's always been available to help, that's true," Draco said, looking away from the sympathetic look Hermione was giving him. "But I think we're forgetting the most obvious person, the one who can tell us exactly what we need to know."

"You can't mean -"

"-yes," Draco said shortly. "Voldemort himself holds all the answers."

Ron laughed. "You're barking, Malfoy. What, you think V-Voldemort is just going to sit down for a chat?" He laughed again, nervously.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes. Obviously, Weasley, that's exactly what I had in mind." He rolled his eyes again, but his smirk faded quickly. He settled easily back into his chair, hoping he was the epitome of careless swagger, much as he'd been back at Hogwarts.

"Voldemort has a weakness, one he's surprisingly not all that careful to hide," he drawled easily. "I heard my father mention, once, that the Dark Lord, while being perhaps the most powerful Legilimens in the world, is actually not much of an Occlumens. Because, why would he need to be? Who would possibly want to risk going through _his_ mind, when such a thing requires close proximity? Anyone would be dead before they could get close enough."

A pained look came over Harry's face. "Draco, I think I know where this is headed…I…I can't," he whispered.

Uncaring that Ron and Hermione were watching, Draco touched his shoulder gently. "I know."

"Draco, you're not suggesting that _Harry_ exploit his link to Voldemort?" Hermione said, frowning. "He can hardly perform Occlumency, it would be suicide."

"That's where my plan comes in." Draco flipped open the Dark Arts book, averting his eyes from Harry's face.

"Here," he said to Hermione, pointing his finger to the spell he'd just recently discovered. Hermione pursed her lips slightly, but took the book from Draco, balancing it gingerly in her lap.

"It could work, Draco," she said quietly, after a moment. She handed the book back to him. "But I'm sure I don't have to tell you how dangerous it could be, to you, especially."

"What?" Harry demanded, staring at both Draco and Hermione. "What is it?"

Draco took a breath. "It's a linking spell, basically." Noticing Harry's blank look, he quickly continued. "One person casts the spell on another, linking together both their minds and their magic."

The frown didn't leave Harry's face. "Alright," he said slowly, "and what is so dangerous about it?"

"It's dangerous because the recipient of the spell, as well as the spell-caster, briefly share all their magic," Hermione explained, giving Draco a worried look, "and because the caster may or may not be able to pull all of his, or her, own magic free in the end. It… it just depends."

Harry opened his mouth to speak but Draco cut him off. "It's a bit like tug-of-war really," he said, "if one side becomes unbalanced, and pulls too hard… well, I think you get the idea."

"Sounds more like a curse to me," Ron spoke up, eyeing the book distastefully.

"It _sounds _like it comes from a book of Dark magic, Ronald," Hermione said patiently.

"It _sounds _like a terrible idea." Harry scowled and crossed his arms across his chest. "And it sounds like you'd be putting yourself in danger for no good reason, Draco - as you've had a tendency to do lately," he pointed out.

Draco scowled in return, choosing to ignore the latter part of Harry's comment. "Destroying Voldemort isn't good enough reason for you?"

Harry glared. "Not if it means losing your magic!"

"I'm not going to lose my magic," Draco said defiantly, though, he had to admit, Harry's fiercely protective attitude did make him feel slightly giddy inside.

Hermione gave him a sideways glance. "It _is _possible, Draco."

"_Yes_, Granger" Draco agreed. He was doing his utmost to be patient. "It's possible. But the only times that has ever happened was when the recipient made a willing effort to withhold the other's magic. And obviously, Harry would never do that."

"But you want to use the link while my mind is open to Voldemort, don't you?" Harry went on. "You know I can't control things when that happens." His hand tightened around Draco's. "What if he gains control of me, somehow? And I can't give your magic back?"

"But Vol… um, he's never actually _made _you do anything, mate" Ron said, furrowing his brow in thought. "I mean, mostly it's just you watching and, and kind of thinking his thoughts, right?"

Harry huffed unhappily. "Yeah, that's pretty much it," he muttered.

"So this could work," Draco jumped on the opportunity. "We use the linking spell, you open _your _link to the Dark Lord, and then I use Legilimency to go through your mind into his." He grinned, hoping Harry would catch onto his confidence. Or, at least, the confidence he wanted them all to see. "Sounds easy enough, right?"

All three of them stared at Draco for a moment.

"Easy," Harry repeated. "Yeah, right."

Draco squeezed Harry's hand. "It'll work. I just know it. Besides, weren't you just saying yesterday how impressive I am?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "That still doesn't mean you're ready to invade Voldemort's mind. Something I'm fairly sure no one has ever done before."

"Maybe not," Draco smiled. "But no one's ever had you as the go-between before, either."

After a few seconds, Harry conceded, though the wary look hadn't left his face. "I really should stop letting you talk me into things," he murmured, shaking his head.

Unable to resist, Draco licked his lips suggestively and watched Harry blush bright red. "It usually turns out okay though, doesn't it? In the _end._" Harry's blush deepened.

Hermione cleared her throat loudly. "Um, boys. Perhaps we should practice before we try this for real. If nothing else, Draco, you can practice your Legilimency on us."

"Excuse me?" Ron squeaked, looking positively alarmed. "No offense, but I don't exactly fancy the idea of Malfoy poking around my head, Hermione! I mean, who knows what he might see!"

"Nothing I haven't seen before, surely, Weasley?" Draco drawled, smirking. "Because, obviously, I _want _to be privy to all your bizarre sexual practices and deviant acts…"

"I don't fucking want you in my mind!" Ron said angrily, his face reddening. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but there's no way I'm letting -"

"He can practice on me," Harry said, cutting off Ron's protestations. "We're the ones that will be doing it, anyway." He looked back and forth between Ron and Hermione. "Anyone have a problem with that?"

"Of course not, Harry," Hermione said, sounding tired. She gave Draco a tight smile. "You can practice on me as well, Draco, if you'd like."

Draco nodded. "Thanks."

Ron scowled. "Mess up her mind, and I swear I'll-"

Draco snorted. "Oh, Weasley, your chivalry will never cease to amuse me. Be still, my heart!" he said as theatrically as possible. He burst out laughing.

"Shut the hell up, Malfoy!"

"I'm serious, Weasley. You're like a white knight…well, more like a freckly, blotchy knight, but you get my point…"

"At least I'm not a pointy-faced git!"

"Ouch, Weasley. Low blow. I really felt that one, you know…"

"Shut up, both of you!" Hermione said shrilly, standing to her feet. Harry just blinked bemusedly at all of them, as if unsure whether he should laugh or not, and at whose expense.

She whirled around at Harry, who shrunk back from her warily. "Well, why did you let them carry on like that?" She sniffed. "Never mind. I'll be in the tent, where hopefully I'll eventually be joined by the _adults _that should be present here!" She stalked back into the tent, leaving the three boys staring at each other in barely concealed amusement.

"Bloody hell," Ron mumbled, staring at the ground. He looked up, a slightly sheepish expression on his face. "You know, Malfoy, you're really not that pointy-faced, even though you are still a git…"

"And you're really not _that _blotchy…although, I can't lie about the freckles, Weasley."

Harry rolled his eyes, grinning wryly. "Anyway," he said after a moment, his smile fading. "If we could get back onto the subject at hand…" he gulped, noticeably, looking away from Draco. "I guess now is as good a time as any."

Ron regarded them uneasily. "I'll leave you two alone, then," he said quietly, getting to his feet. "Just…just be careful, okay, Malfoy? My dad's told me some stories…if you're not careful, you know, you could rip Harry's mind apart."

Draco closed his eyes briefly. "You know I would never let that happen," he said quietly. He stole a glance at Harry, who was currently looking nervously at the ground.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I know." He shrugged. "I have nothing to worry about, I guess." He turned to leave, walking towards the tent.

"So, do you want to do it here?" Harry asked softly, still staring at his shoes.

Draco touched his arm. "Harry, Granger offered to let me practice on her, you know. I don't _have _to use Legilimency on you right now, not if you're worried about something going wrong…"

Harry looked up, his green eyes shuttered. "I'm more afraid that it will go right," he whispered. He shivered, and Draco instinctively moved closer to him. "I trust you, Draco, you know that. More…more than that, even," he said softly. "I think you know that, too."

A ridiculously warm feeling settling into his chest, Draco whispered, "I know, Harry." He swept Harry's hair off his scar, brushing it softly with his fingertips.

Harry shivered again. "So, I know it's necessary and all, which is why I agreed to do it…but, I just…"

"Harry, I'm hardly a skilled Legilimens, but I promise that I'm not going to be looking for memories that could hurt you. And you're doing much better at Occlumency, so you should be able to…guide where you want me to go. Or not go. This isn't like with Snape - it's a joint effort, okay?"

Harry nodded, looking vastly relieved. "Okay. Like I said, I trust you. It's just…there are some things I'd rather not talk about. Maybe not ever."

Draco nodded. Although, selfishly, he wanted to be the person Harry chose to confide in, the larger part of him, in which his love for Harry resided, simply caused him to offer his reassurances.

"Okay," Draco said finally, pointing his wand at Harry's temple. "I'm just going to go in and…I don't know…look for the part of your mind that links you to Voldemort. Are you ready?"

Harry nodded, looking very pale. "Yeah," he said hoarsely.

Draco squeezed his hand briefly, then let it drop. "It will be okay, Harry." He fixed his eyes on Harry's, nearly taken aback by the trust present there.

Draco took a deep breath. "_Legilimens_!"

Brief images and barely discernable snapshots of memories flitted by Draco, so fast and erratic that it nearly made him dizzy. He could stop and look at any of them if he wanted, but he had promised Harry…

"Harry?" Draco called tentatively, hoping that Harry had managed to create some mental construct of himself.

"I'm right here, Draco," Harry said, appearing beside him. He looked much the same, except his scar was angrier and more pronounced. Draco decided not to comment on it.

"I didn't think I'd be able to do it!" Harry said, practically shouting to be heard above the roar that was Harry's mind. Draco wondered for a moment how Harry managed to concentrate on anything, when his mind was so loud and disorganized.

Draco smiled at him encouragingly. "I told you before, Harry. It's your mind. You can do whatever you want with it."

Harry nodded, but then paled as a memory of what appeared to be a dark-haired wizard falling backwards looped lazily around them.

Harry was shaking, even in his mind, and Draco touched his arm gently. "Just push it away, Harry. If it bothers you, just make it leave."

Harry closed his eyes, appearing to concentrate, but the memory remained.

"I can't," Harry whispered. He shook his head. "This was a bad idea…"

"Come on," Draco said, pulling him forward by the arm. "We need to find how you're linked to Voldemort."

Draco continued walking forward, pulling Harry along with him. It was darker in Harry's mind than Draco would have ever expected, illuminated only by the constant flickering of images. He tried to ignore most of them, concentrating on the feel of Harry's hand in his, but the constant visual and auditory onslaught made it difficult to ignore entirely.

There were dozens of memories of a very young Harry crying by himself in some dark room, another of an older Harry sheepishly asking Cho Chang to the Yule Ball (how Draco would have had fun with _that_, at the time), another of Harry surrounded by countless Dementors by the lake at Hogwarts.

"Hey, is that what you told me about, with the Time Turner and all?" Draco asked, nudging Harry slightly in the ribs. Harry nodded distractedly, watching with a slightly blank expression as a pig-like boy - the infamous Dudley, he presumed - pushed Harry, who couldn't have been older than eight, down the stairs. He luckily only fell down one step, but his glasses slid off his face, and he landed on them with a resounding crack.

"Mummy!" Dudley called with glee. "Harry broke his glasses again!"

"He's lying!" Memory Harry cried indignantly. He pulled himself upright, looking fiercely at Dudley. "Dudley pushed me, Aunt Petunia."

"_Mu-um_!" Dudley whined, his chins quivering. "Harry just called me a liar!"

A skinny, nearly emaciated woman who looked as though she had permanent frown lines appeared at the base of the stairs.

"You!" she screeched, pointing at Harry. "How dare you break your glasses again? It was bad enough those…_fascists_ at your school practically made us get them for you…never mind the cost…I bet you think it's funny, don't you? Seeing how much we'll take, how much we'll pay for…well, I've had enough!"

Harry met her gaze defiantly. "Dudley pushed me."

"Mummy…" Dudley whined again. "Harry was trying to get into my room again, he said he wanted to break all of my video games! Then, when I said I was going to tell you, he pretended to fall down the stairs and he broke his glasses!"

Petunia smiled, and Draco realized that the frown lines were only present when she addressed Harry.

"It's okay, Diddykins," she cooed. "Mummy will make it all right."

Dudley's lower lip trembled. "I'm worried about him, Mum. He lies _so_ much…I think he might need help!"

Memory Harry was visibly shaking in rage. "He's lying, Aunt Petunia! I never wanted to touch any of his stupid video games! Dudley's the liar, not me!" He glared at Petunia, who had gone pale with anger. "You always take _his_ side, and he's the one who always lies!"

"Mummy…" Dudley whimpered.

"Hush, Dudley," Petunia said, stalking up the stairs towards Harry. Upon reaching him, she grabbed the front of his shirt, forcing him to look at her.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ talk about me or my son like that again, do you hear me? If it were up to me, you wouldn't be here at all, did you know that? It would have made it easier on all of us if you'd gone the way of your parents!"

Harry twisted out of her grasp, staring at her in shock.

"You…you don't really mean that," he said softly, pleadingly. "You're just angry, you…" his eyes filled with tears, and he turned away sharply.

Petunia eyed him dispassionately. "I meant it," she said simply, then turned her attention back to Dudley, brightening visibly.

"Come, Dudders," she said cheerfully, ignoring Harry, who at this point had crumpled forlornly to a sitting position on the top step. "Come downstairs, and Mummy will make you your favorite cookies."

Dudley's round features contorted into a wide grin, and after jostling Harry as he passed him, he lumbered heavily down the stairs, chattering loudly with his mother about how much he liked her cookies.

Memory Harry watched them from his step, a mixture of hurt, envy, and obvious _want_ on his face.

"Come on," a voice at Draco's side said hoarsely, pulling him forward. Harry's face had a new determination present, and he said nothing for a few moments.

Draco said nothing as well, knowing innately that Harry didn't wish to talk at the moment, and also knowing that that particular memory was probably not unique. He stole a glance at Harry, looking at him sadly, yet with newfound admiration. It was really a wonder that Harry was - well, Harry. He could so easily have become another Tom Riddle, or perhaps even worse. Draco felt a stab of anger towards the late Dumbledore - he had known what the Muggles were like, what they could have made Harry into, yet he had done nothing.

"Please don't say anything," Harry said quietly after a moment. "It's just…that's all behind me now, you know?"

"Okay," Draco agreed softly, squeezing Harry's hand. He couldn't help but wince slightly as he caught a glimpse of himself in a pool of blood in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom - he really had looked precariously close to death.

Then, a hissing sound came viciously from his right, and when Harry whirled around and began hissing back at it, Harry knew it was Parseltongue.

"That's it," he said, turning briefly to face Draco, and Draco turned towards the hissing.

The shared link between Harry and Voldemort had taken the appearance of an enormous black snake, curled around what could only be described as a horrible whirlpool of foulness. Draco took a step back, feeling physically dirty as Dark magic pulsated around him.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Harry said flippantly, staring blank-faced at the link.

"Yes," Draco agreed, gulping. He held Harry's hand more tightly, turning him slightly to look him in the eyes. "But you're not. This isn't you, Harry."

"It's a part of me."

"It's a part of Voldemort." The snake hissed upon hearing the name, and Harry hissed back at it, looking slightly nervous.

"I think we need to go. It says we shouldn't use _his _name…"

Draco nodded, more than ready to leave. "Okay." Using every ounce of self-control he possessed, he willed himself back into his physical body, practically leaping out of Harry's mind.

For a few moments, Harry stared quietly at the ground - Draco, at Harry - until finally, he looked up, a shaky smile on his face.

"That wasn't so bad," Harry said in a small voice.

Leaning forward, Draco grasped Harry's hands in his own and held on tightly.

"You did fine," Draco reassured him. "Now that we know what the link looks like, so to speak, we can go straight to it next time." _And not stand witness to anymore of your near-abusive childhood memories_, were the unspoken words between them both.

Harry nodded jerkily. And then, quite abruptly, he lunged forward and caught Draco in a bone-crushing embrace, nearly dragging them both to the ground. Draco gave a soft oomph of surprise but returned the hug readily. Harry obviously needed it.

"Sorry," Harry murmured, his words half-muffled as he nestled his head in Draco's collarbone. "It's just… the only time anyone's ever done that… well, first it was Snape, and then…"

Voldemort, Draco knew. But he didn't interrupt.

Harry continued. "It wasn't like that with you, of course. But… I hate not having control, you know. It's… I just _hate _it," he finished miserably, his shoulders shaking slightly.

After seeing what he had, knowing it was far from a unique memory, and combining that with everything else he knew of Harry's life, Draco understood all too clearly. When your whole life had been brutally stripped of control of any sort, controlling one's own mind was nearly all there was left. Only Harry couldn't. This was thanks largely in part to his link with Voldemort, but also to the Muggles - who'd wished an orphaned, love-starved child dead to his face.

Familiar feelings of protectiveness welled up in Draco, and he rubbed his hand up and down Harry's back in a soothing rhythm as he spoke. "I know. I'm sorry. Harry… if this is too much for you… We don't have to do this. I'm sure we can figure out another way."

"No," Harry said, pulling his head up. "No. You're right. This is the best option. I'll… I'll be alright. I can do this."

"I know you can," Draco agreed softly. He pressed a light kiss against Harry's forehead before encouraging him to return his head to Draco's chest. Harry did so, a soft sigh accompanying the movement.

* * *

An hour or so later, they tried again.

This time, Draco hoped, they'd make a bit more progress actually studying the link, and more importantly, how Harry was managing to keep it closed. After all, when it came time to use the linking spell, Draco would have to stay hidden until the opportune moment, and Harry would need enough control to open and shut the link on his own.

"Remember, don't use the Dark Lord's name this time," Draco said quietly, once again as his mental construct inside Harry's mind. Beside him, Harry nodded.

With Draco's gentle guidance, they watched Harry's memories fly by in a whirlwind of images, too fast to discern one from the other, this time. It wasn't long before their metaphorical steps returned them to the dark pool and, subsequently, the snake that seemed to be guarding it. Sensing their renewed presence, it opened its mouth, baring a set of razor-sharp teeth that could easily tear and devour flesh.

It was then that a thought occurred to Draco. "Harry," he began, eyeing the snake but no longer weary of it. "Can you ask it why it's here?"

Harry glanced at him in confusion. "We know why it's here. It's part of the link."

"No," Draco shook his head. "I don't think so. Just ask it."

Still obviously confused, Harry looked at the snake and hissed several lengthy syllables. The snake, before responding, began slowly circling the pool and then hissed softly in response. Harry turned back to Draco.

"You're right," he murmured, eyes wide and full of surprise. "It's not part of the link. It's… I made it, I think. It's shielding me. How did you know?"

Draco grinned, rather pleased with himself for having figured it out so quickly. "It warned us last time. If it was part of the link, wouldn't it want the connection to open? Besides, it's not that surprising your Occlumency would take the shape of something like this."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, looking mildly offended.

"No, it's not a bad thing," Draco explained. "It's because you're only using it to protect the link from opening, not to guard your mind as a whole."

Harry nodded slowly, biting on his lower lip. "Yeah, I get it, I think. Maybe that's why Snape's lessons never worked. He was trying to get me to guard everything. I mean, I still can't keep anyone out of my mind, but I can keep V - _him_ out." He glanced at Draco and smiled slightly. "If only I'd had you back in fifth year, teaching me this stuff."

Draco actually hadn't learned an ounce of Occlumency until the summer _after _fifth year., as they both knew. And those lessons, taught by dear Aunt Bellatrix, had been less than pleasant - probably far less pleasant than Harry's own with Snape, in the long run. But Draco decided to not mention this.

"Yeah," he agreed, offering a smile in return.

Harry refocused on the snake and, for a few minutes, Draco watched in mild amusement as he and the snake appeared to have a rather urgent conversation, complete with hand-gestures and facial expressions on Harry's part. Eventually, Harry looked back up.

"She says she can open the link, when we're ready," Harry said. "And that if You-Know-Who starts moving too far into my mind, she can bite him and close the link."

"She?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "Remember when you said I could focus on one thing, instead of clearing my mind completely?" He paused. "Well, I did. I focused on, um, on my mum. She gave me the greatest protection I could've asked for, so…"

He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but Draco thought Harry seemed slightly defensive about his explanation, so he took his hand and smiled encouragingly.

"That was really good thinking, actually. And the snake?"

Harry didn't seem to have a ready answer for that one. "I don't know. I guess, since we're both Parselmouths, a snake seems like a worthy opponent. Besides, she only listens to me and can talk back to him. Seems alright, doesn't it?"

Draco grinned. "Harry," he said lightly, "you do realize this qualifies as talking to yourself, right?"

"It - " Harry considered this for a moment, then grinned in return. "Yeah, I guess it does."

**Reviews would be lovely…**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Thanks as always for the reviews! Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up, hope you like it!**

**Chapter 25**

It really wasn't so bad, Harry decided, having Draco in his mind. Not that he'd ever been particularly opposed to the idea, as he'd been the one to suggest it, but the thought of having _anyone, _much less someone whose opinion he valued very much seeing some of his memories…Not, he reasoned, that he'd been worried about Draco being disgusted and turning away from him, quite the opposite, in fact. Mostly, he'd been afraid of meeting Draco's eyes and seeing only pity reflected back at him. But, upon sneaking a peak at Draco after they'd viewed the memory of the Dursleys, he'd seen something else entirely; sadness, sure, and certainly sympathy, but also anger, admiration, and perhaps even respect. The discovery made him slightly giddy in retrospect - perhaps he really _could_ tell Draco anything, even things he'd never told Ron and Hermione. It was, Harry mused, more than he could ever have hoped for.

After he and Draco had visited the snake - well, himself - once more, so as to be certain they could access it easily through the linking spell, the looming prospect of the spell on Draco's Dark Mark had caused them to take a brief hiatus.

"I'd really hoped we'd have time to do it today," Draco said later, shivering and too-pale beneath a pile of blankets. Hermione had performed the spell a couple of hours ago, and as always, Harry had waited patiently at Draco's side for him to awaken.

"Me too," Harry said quietly, pulling Draco more closely against him. The blankets piled over them were stifling, but Draco tended to be feverish lately after the spell was performed, causing Harry to question Hermione as to whether she really _knew_ that her spell couldn't cause long-term damage. She had shakily replied that she wasn't sure, but at the moment it was their only option.

Harry idly pushed Draco's hair off his forehead, noting with dismay that his skin was cold and clammy.

"Are you sure you'll be okay to do it tomorrow?" Harry asked softly, lightly kneading the back of Draco's neck.

Draco nodded, burrowing his head against Harry's chest. "Definitely," he said in a near whisper. "I'm sure as hell not letting that…that nose-less, red-eyed _freak_ get the best of me. I am a Malfoy, after all."

Harry couldn't help but smile at Draco's attempted haughtiness.

"And besides," Draco continued, mumbling against Harry's neck. "The sooner we get rid of his soul fragments, the sooner we can kill the bastard."

Harry wasn't aware that he'd been holding his breath, until Draco wearily raised his head and instructed him to breathe.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he said quietly, lowering his head to Harry's shoulder. "I shouldn't have brought it up…"

"It's okay," Harry replied, kissing the top of Draco's head. He sighed, staring numbly at the ceiling. "You're right…I…I do have to kill him, I suppose. I guess…the thing is…I don't know if I can. I mean, even without the Horcruxes, Voldemort is still a stronger, better wizard than I am." Harry gave a bitter laugh. "I can't even do non-verbal spells properly, did you know that? Some savior of the wizarding world I am…"

Draco was oddly silent, and Harry felt a sharp stab of regret for unloading his worries on him when, by all means, his attention should have been directed towards Draco's comfort.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "You're sick, and I…"

"Are you done?" Draco asked softly, the question surprisingly gentle. He pulled himself to a slightly upright position, his hands splayed across Harry's chest for balance.

"Harry," he said, his eyes fixed earnestly on Harry's face. "Whatever made you think you had to kill him on your own, without any help? In what part of the prophesy does it say, 'Harry Potter must kill the Dark Lord all by himself'?"

Harry frowned. "Dumbledore, he said…" he frowned again. "It said, 'either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives'…it said I have the power to vanquish him…"

"Yes," Draco said simply. "You've told me that already. 'The power to vanquish the Dark Lord', well, that's pretty vague, isn't it? And one of you dying at the hand of the other…" he gulped, his fingers digging into Harry's chest, and Harry gripped his hand reflexively, finding it to be as cold as ice.

"The thing is," Draco continued, lowering himself onto Harry once again and shivering. "The wizarding world is pretty divided on whether or not Divination is even a reputable subject…my father told me once, said it was a Muggle saying, oddly enough, that there is a such thing as a self-fulfilling prophesy. In other words, people who put a lot of stock into prophesies and such tend to make them come true, whether they mean to or not. And, think about it; you said yourself that Neville Longbottom was also born at the end of July and fit the prophesy just as completely as you did, but for whatever reason, Voldemort chose you. He 'marked you as his equal' and, inadvertently, contributed towards his own doom."

"Well, maybe that was meant to happen all along…I don't know." It actually was something Harry had pondered over occasionally.

"Maybe," Draco said in a non-committal tone. "But assuming it is true, it still doesn't specifically say you have to do it alone. And I wouldn't let you, anyway," he added quietly, apparently on the verge of lulling off to sleep once again.

"I know you wouldn't," Harry answered, staring up at the ceiling once again as he ran his fingers through Draco's hair. _And that's what worries me, sometimes_.

* * *

"You're quite sure you know what you're doing, Draco?" Hermione asked the next day. They were all four huddled in a hasty semi-circle on Ron and Hermione's side of the tent, as the temperature outdoors had turned exceptionally frigid overnight. It had been so cold, in fact, the entire forest so covered with snow and hoer frost, that they had all decided to forego their usual breakfast-nook, and instead had cast multiple warming charms and eaten inside the tent. Harry had never been more grateful for Mrs. Weasley's sweaters, and Draco, loathe though he was to admit it, appeared equally grateful.

"Like I said before, Granger," Draco said exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. "How can I know what I'm doing when I've never done this before? In theory, yes, I think I know what I'm doing, but in practice, no."

"No, what I mean, _Draco_, is whether or not you're in enough control of your Legilemency to attempt something like this! I know you say you are, but there's no shame in practicing a bit more!"

"Hermione," Harry cut in, feeling slightly annoyed. After all, they'd been over this with her multiple times, but with typical Hermione stubbornness, she simply _had_ to have the final say. "Draco and I have a plan, okay? Yes, my Occlumency is complete and utter shit, and yes, Draco's Legilimency probably isn't perfect, but I think it's good enough."

"Good enough?" Hermione asked incredulously. She closed her eyes briefly, as if counting to ten in her head. "Being 'good enough' isn't good enough! Honestly, you'd think you two were about to turn in a Potions project, not go traipsing through the mind of the most powerful Dark wizard of our time!"

"I think they should do it," Ron said quietly, speaking up for the first time since they had begun arguing. Hermione stared at him incredulously, and he shrugged.

"Hermione, you're brilliant and all, but sometimes you've got to just _do_ things if you want to learn how. And I trust Harry…and Malfoy," he wrinkled his nose slightly, as if smelling something particularly foul. Draco smirked in response.

Hermione sighed indignantly. "If you ask me, I think you both need more practice…but, whatever. There's obviously no convincing you otherwise."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence, Granger," Draco said dryly, turning so that he faced Harry. And in spite of Draco's outward display of confidence, Harry could tell he was more nervous than he was letting on.

"Are you ready?" he asked Harry quietly. Harry nodded, taking Draco's free hand.

"It will be okay," Harry told him softly, an exact echo of the words Draco had spoken to him, just before he'd performed Legilimency on him for the first time. Draco must have realized it, because he smiled slightly, squeezing Harry's hand in response.

"We'll be right here, if you need us," Ron said quickly.

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said with a smile, knowing full-well that there was little that any outside party could contribute once the link was in place.

"Be careful," was all Hermione said, pushing her hair out of her face. It was a nervous gesture that Harry knew all too well, and he touched her arm gently with his other hand, causing her to smile tightly at him in response.

"Okay," Draco said, inhaling audibly. He raised his wand, pointing it at Harry. "_Contanimus Tribulus_!" A brief pause. "_Legilimens_!"

Harry had had little experience with subtlety when it came to spells, so he was fully expecting something great and dramatic to happen when Draco performed the two spells in conjunction. But instead, Draco was in his mind as usual, and with Draco's presence guiding him, Harry slipped in beside him, unsure as to whether the linking spell was even working.

_It is. _A voice, Draco's voice, resounded inside his head (inside the inside of his head?), startling him for a moment.

"It's okay," Draco said quickly, grabbing his hand. "Our minds and magic are joined, it's different than Legilimency, you see, but it's not like I can just read your thoughts, or you, mine. You were just shouting them exceptionally loud for a moment, there."

Harry blinked, slightly disconcerted by the notion. _Can you hear me, Draco?_

_Yes. _

Harry laughed nervously. "This is just too weird."

"Agreed."

A memory wisped by them of Harry being chased by one of his Aunt Marge's bulldogs, and he shuddered slightly.

Draco eyed the memory disdainfully, shaking his head. "What the fuck is wrong with Muggles?" he muttered, tugging Harry forward. "Come on, let's see what we can find in old snake-face's mind."

At nearly that exact moment, everything blurred around them. Harry instinctively tightened his hold on Draco, afraid he'd simply blow away in the storm of memories whirling them about - but then it stopped. Blinking bemusedly, Harry realized they were once again standing before the snake, and therefore the link to Voldemort.

"Whoa," Harry whispered, more to himself than Draco. _How did that happen?_

Draco smirked, eyeing him sideways. "Everything is combined, Harry. Whatever we want to happen, will happen with twice as much strength - which apparently we underestimated."

Harry wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. "Yeah… apparently."

Swallowing nervously, he focused his attention on the snake and spoke. "Are you ready?" he asked, knowing his hisses and whispers were no longer discernable to Draco.

The snake coiled her head around and narrowed a pair of shining green eyes at them. "It took so long for me to get here," she hissed languidly, "why do you want me to leave so soon?"

Harry shook his head. "Not leave. Just… back off for awhile. And protect us if - if he gets too far into my mind. Alright?"

"Yesss," she answered. With careful precision, the snake began unwinding her long, lithe body and encircling the pool. "I will protect us."

"Okay," Harry said shakily, to Draco. "Ready?"

Draco's eyes were wide, his skin paled several more shades than normal, but his nod was firm. "Ready," he replied.

Harry hissed once more to the snake. "Open the link."

He honestly hadn't known what to expect at this point, whether the snake - being his lowered Occlumency shields - would simply disappear, or perhaps only back off for the time being. But what he certainly hadn't expected, was for her to slide _into _the pool.

"Is that supposed to happen?" Harry whispered, eyeing the now bubbling pool nervously. Draco squeezed his hand tightly in response.

And then, just like that, the link was open.

Harry gasped, fighting the urge to sink to his knees, as a wave of magic, of filthy, Dark magic, seared through his very being.

"I think he's been waiting for you," Draco murmured from beside him, a look of blatant unease flitting across his face.

Voldemort's voice began to laugh.

"Now!" Harry urged. Draco's hand tightened and then he simply disappeared.

Harry felt the link between them stretch and zing with intensity, and Harry's initial thoughts that their bond had somehow been severed, vanished as completely as Draco had. And that meant Harry had to act.

_Harry! Oh, Harry! _Voldemort's silky voice called out. _There you are! It's been so long!_

'Not long enough, Tom," Harry said, hoping he sounding less nervous than he felt. "I just finished destroying one of your Horcruxes, after all."

A strangling pain around Harry's chest sent him to the ground, coughing and gasping for air. Voldemort's voice grew louder.

_Now, now, Harry. Lying doesn't become you…_

His words trailed off and, for a moment, Harry felt his presence receding along with the pain in his lungs.

Then Voldemort screamed. _How dare you!_

"Draco!" Harry cried out, as agony of a different sort resonated through him. The link snapped taut as a wire, their combined magic vibrating violently, and Harry willed as much as he could to the other end, knowing Draco was under attack. He felt, rather than heard, Draco scream. "Draco!" Harry tried again, shouting for all he was worth. "Come back now! We have to close it!"

Harry doubled over, clutching his stomach that seemed to want to tear out of his body. "Ahhh!"

Suddenly, a body toppled into his. Even through the blurry, pulsing mass that was Harry's mind, a glimpse of pale hair was enough for him to yell, "Shut the link! Shut it!"

As abruptly as it had disappeared, the snake slithered her way out of the pool, hissing and spitting viciously, and the boiling sludge of the pool stilled. The link was closed.

"Oh, god," Harry groaned, rolling over and grasping for Draco. Draco stared back at him, breathing equally hard.

"Are you alright?" Draco whispered hoarsely. Harry blinked. His mind continued to pound like a heart-beat around them, shuddering and quivering with leftover pain, but it was nothing he hadn't felt before.

Harry nodded. "We should end the spell. How… how do I make sure you get all your magic back?"

"You just," he struggled to a sitting position, "just concentrate on what your magic feels like. Relax, alright?"

Resisting the insane urge to laugh at being told to relax, given what he just happened, Harry took a deep breath and followed Draco's instructions.

_Ready_? Draco words floated through his mind.

Draco's whispered "_finite incantantatum_" was, once again, far less dramatic than Harry had imagined it would be. Draco was still in his mind via Legilimency, after all, so the only change was a sudden feeling of… self-awareness, for lack of a better term.

"It worked?" Harry asked, afraid he'd look up and find Draco's horror-stricken gaze, confirming Harry had just successfully turned him into a Squib.

"It worked," Draco answered softly, sinking back to the ground. "I'm going to leave now…"

Harry opened his eyes, his real, physical eyes, to find Hermione leaning over him, concern etched in every pore of her face.

"Oh, Harry!" she gasped, throwing herself on top of him in a tight embrace. "Harry, that was _awful_! What happened??"

"It didn't work," came Draco's weak voice from beside him. Despite the shooting pain in his skull, Harry turned his head enough to see Draco was awake as well, Ron hovering worriedly at Draco's side, as Hermione was doing at his own.

Hermione sat up, eyebrows raised nearly to her hair. "Are you both alright? Harry, your scar was just _pouring _blood! And Draco, oh, your Mark!"

"I bloody well thought Vol - Voldemort was about to come popping up out of your arm!" Ron exclaimed, wiping his face nervously.

Draco blinked slowly, meeting Harry's eyes. Harry did his best to smile, though the roaring in his head was growing steadily in intensity, sure to reach its peak soon.

"Maybe," Draco said, attempting to sound casual, but barely succeeding, "we need a bit more practice."

The last thing Harry remembered before passing out was Hermione asking again if he was alright, as he started to laugh.

* * *

Draco sat patiently at Harry's side, listlessly watching the rise and fall of his chest. It had been approximately two hours since their unsuccessful attempt at Legilimency, and Draco couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of guilt at Harry's current state. True, the potion had linked them together, yet Harry was Voldemort's primary target, and had suffered the brunt of the attack. And Draco, as the better Legilimens of the two should not have underestimated his opponent - particularly when that opponent was Lord Voldemort.

He shuddered, remembering the feeling of being submerged into the foul blackness of Voldemort's thoughts, and he reflexively brushed Harry's hair away from his scar, noting with satisfaction that the famed lightning bolt appeared far less irritated.

Harry stirred in response, opening his eyes and blinking sleepily up at Draco.

"Sorry," Draco mumbled, jerking his hand away.

"S'okay," Harry muttered, pulling himself to a sitting position. He squinted at Draco, fumbling idly for his glasses. "How long have I been out?"

"A couple of hours," Draco replied, handing Harry his glasses. "How is your head? Hermione and I managed to force a potion down your throat - good thing I've had practice of that sort, haha - but your scar is still a little red…"

Harry smirked at Draco's innuendo, then frowned slightly as he peered at Draco's arm. "I feel fine, now…how about you? Your arm doesn't look so great."

Draco shrugged, clutching his arm. "Never better, of course."

Harry sighed. "Draco…"

"_Harry_, it's fine. Honestly, I hardly feel it these days." That was a lie, of course, and judging from Harry's skeptical look, he knew it, yet he also knew when it was best to say nothing.

Harry leaned his head against Draco's shoulder. "That was _awful_," he groaned. "I just feel…filthy being near his thoughts, you know? And to have it all have been for nothing…"

"I know what you mean," Draco said softly, leaning against Harry. Gently extracting Harry's head from his shoulder, he kissed him thoroughly on the lips, moaning slightly when Harry nipped his lower lip.

"It wasn't really for nothing, though," Draco panted, finding it incredibly hard to concentrate as Harry's lips trailed down his jaw.

"How's that?" Harry asked, pushing Draco gently onto his back and straddling him.

"Because…because…oh, fuck," Draco cried as Harry deftly unbuttoned his pants.

"That's the general idea," Harry said wryly.

Approximately twenty minutes and two cleaning charms later, Draco had his answer.

"It wasn't for nothing," Draco reiterated as he pulled a second Weasley sweater over his head. He scowled as he felt his hair static, and he smoothed it out absently. "Because now we know what to expect. And as you know, once you've been in someone's mind - or been around it, in our case - it's much easier to break into it. He still isn't a strong Occlumens, no matter how good of a Legilimens he is, and we're bound to get in eventually."

"I guess you're right," Harry said in a noncommittal tone, picking at a string on his sweater. He smiled slightly. "We'll have to practice, apparently. Hermione was right - so I'm sure we'll never hear the end of it."

"Wonderful," Draco said dryly. He pulled himself to his feet, extending a hand to help Harry up. Draco smirked at Harry's look of surprise.

"No one can say my mother didn't teach me to be a gentleman," he quipped, all the while surreptitiously appraising Harry's condition as he stood up.

Harry snorted. "What, am I the lady in this scenario?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Funny you ask…is now a good time to check?" He eyed Harry suggestively.

Harry rolled his eyes, grabbing Draco's good arm and leading him out of the tent. "We should let Ron and Hermione know I'm alright. And eat, I'm starving."

"We did have a lot of physical exertion recently," Draco said absently, glancing around at their surroundings. There was a certain eerie beauty to the woods that evening - ice-sickles glistened, jewel-like, among the trees, which cast bluish shadows over the snow. He felt a sudden wave of loss at the physical manifestation of time passing - the ground had been free of snow when his father had died. Draco swallowed, his throat inexplicably tight. He wondered how his mother was doing, if she was even still alive.

"Hey." Harry gripped Draco's shoulder softly, halting him. Harry's eyes were filled with concern, and for a moment Draco regretted just how well Harry could read him. But only for a moment.

"Is something the matter?"

Draco stared back, noting fondly that Harry's hair was sticking up more than usual. Hermione had given them all haircuts the day before, but Harry's appeared to have grown an inch overnight.

"I was thinking about my parents, actually," he said softly, glancing past Harry towards the partially frozen stream. He shivered as a gush of icy wind blew his hair back. "My mother - she'd be ordering the house-elves around right now, getting the Manor decorated for Christmas. I haven't seen her do it since I've been at Hogwarts, but I can remember…" he trailed off, feeling rather than seeing Harry move closer.

"I just wonder if I'll ever see her again," Draco said softly, looking at the ground.

"You will," Harry said, wrapping an arm around him. Draco closed his eyes, relishing the contact, and leaned further against Harry.

"I've always wondered," Harry said after a moment. "Second year - you stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas…the year before, of course, I remember you talking loudly about how sorry you felt for anyone who had to stay at school over the holidays, because no one wanted them…"

Draco smiled slightly. "I was charming as a child, wasn't I?"

Harry smiled sardonically "That's an understatement. But anyway, I wondered at the time why you had to stay over Christmas, and knowing what I do about your mother…"

"How she could hardly bear to let me out of her sight, you mean? Yeah, she wasn't too happy about it, but my parents were invited to a party in Paris, and my father thought it would be good for me to learn to be more independent. She let him win that argument, but when my father wanted to send me to Durmstrang, she didn't speak to him for a week. She even threatened to leave him and take me with her - she was that worried about me being so far away."

"Your mum must really love you," Harry said softly.

"Yeah," Draco said, slightly afraid he would cry if he continued the subject. "Yours too."

"Yeah," Harry agreed quietly, squeezing him once more. They both stood in silence for a few moments, until Draco could feel Harry shivering beside him.

"Come on," he said, gently nudging him along. "It's freezing out here."

Together they closed the distance to the other side of the tent, where Ron and Hermione were presumably waiting. As Harry crouched to open the tent-flap, his dark hair flopping in front of his eyes, Draco felt a sudden overwhelming rush of affection, and so he leaned down and kissed Harry, hard.

Harry gave a small squeak of surprise, but smiled indulgently at Draco after he'd pulled away. "What was that for?" he asked with a grin, his fingers poised to throw open the tent-flap.

Draco shrugged. "Because you're Harry." He swallowed, feeling inexplicably vulnerable. "Don't let that go to your head," he added jokingly. "I still think you're an attention-seeking git."

Harry grinned. "That's okay. I think you're the same poncy bastard as ever…and you still have nothing on me as far as Quidditch goes…"

Draco groaned, feigning hurt. "That's going too far, Potter. The Quidditch part, I mean. I'll readily admit to being poncy, although my parents _were_ married at the time of my birth, disproving _that _theory…"

Suddenly, the tent-flap was flung open, revealing an exasperated Ron. "Oy, are you two really going to stand out here all bloody night? You might not be able to hear us, but it doesn't mean we can't hear _you_."

Harry shook his head sheepishly, ducking down to enter the tent. Draco followed suit, quickly straightening to smirk at Ron, despite his own embarrassment.

"That eager to see me, Weasley?" he drawled. "That's so sweet!"

Ron made a small grunt. "Hey, Hermione!" he called across the room at Hermione, who was apparently deeply engrossed in some book. She gave a slight nod in response, her eyes never wavering from her place in the book. "Remember that day when Malfoy got turned into a ferret? Best bloody day of my _life_!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Good one, Weasel. Next time, try using something I haven't already heard a hundred times."

Harry rolled his eyes at both of them, walking past and taking a seat by Hermione. Hermione lifted her head, squinting quizzically at him as though surprised to see him there.

"Harry? When did you get here?" She shook her head, the glazed look disappearing from her eyes. "Sorry. I don't know where the time goes when I read." She lazily pointed a finger at a bag in the corner of the tent. "There's sandwiches if you want any…I didn't really feel like cooking anything today. And besides," she frowned thoughtfully, her lips pursing in annoyance. "Why should _I_ always cook, anyway? Just because I'm a girl…"

"Because you're the only one here that knows how!" Ron protested, sitting sulkily next to Hermione. Draco shrugged, grabbing the bag of sandwiches and sitting beside Harry.

"I know how to order a house-elf to cook," Draco said flippantly, taking out a sandwich and biting it delicately.

Hermione made a sound of such disgust, that for a moment Draco thought she was having an attack of some sort. Ron and Harry simply looked scared, shrinking back from her warily.

"Draco! How can you say that! Don't you know that the house-elves are _slaves_? Slaves! How can you perpetuate a cycle of such injustice?"

"Granger, they _like_ being slaves. They really do. Ask one, if you don't believe me."

"I'll cook sometime," Harry cut in hastily, preventing Hermione, whose mouth was currently opening and closing like a fish, from speaking. "I used to do it all the time, when I lived with the Dursleys…it's not a big deal, really."

Hermione's mouth snapped shut, and she exhaled sharply through her nostrils. "Thank you, Harry," she said after a moment. She gave him a slight smile, then launched into a lengthy inquiry on his well-being. Harry nodded good-naturedly, occasionally mumbling between bites of sandwich. Draco met his eyes and grinned, feeling that in spite of the chill outside and the looming doom they were facing, somehow, everything would be alright; his mother, along with all his friends from Slytherin, would be alive, Voldemort would be destroyed, and he and Harry (and Ron and Hermione, he had to amend) would survive to see the end of it all.

* * *

If not for the fact that Draco was such a light sleeper, he might have never known that Harry needed help, and the consequences may have been disastrous. But as it was, Harry's thrashings and guttural moaning brought Draco out of sleep quickly and completely.

"Harry, wake up!" Draco said drowsily, shaking Harry's shoulders, believing him to be having a nightmare. Harry didn't respond. Feeling a sudden wave of dread, Draco pushed the hair away from his forehead - and cursed aloud. Harry's scar was red and pulsating, droplets of blood seeping along the edges.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Draco hissed vehemently. He gripped Harry's shoulders, shaking him vigorously, but to no avail. Feeling desperate, he pointed his wand at Harry, an _ennervate_ on the tip of his tongue, but sudden doubt caused him to lower his wand. Harry was clearly under attack from Voldemort - what if waking him simply made matters worse, or even caused permanent damage to Harry's mind? As far as he could tell, there was only one solution.

"_Contanimus Tribulus!" _Draco yelled, his wand hand wavering slightly. Then, taking a deep breath, "_Legilimens_!"

Harry's mind was a vicious storm of memories which knocked him off-balance the moment he entered Harry's mind. He was aware of Harry's magic joined with his, the link zinging with intensity as Harry attempted to push Voldemort out of his mind. Voldemort's presence felt oily and wrong, like swimming in a polluted sea.

"_Harry_!" Draco screamed inwardly. _"Where are you_?"

The link gave a tremendous lurch, causing Draco to stumble forward, and continuing to pull until he nearly fell headlong into the massive, black swirl of Harry's link with Voldemort. The black snake was nowhere to be seen, allowing foulness to spiral out and away from the link, essentially poisoning Harry's mind.

"Draco?" Harry was suddenly at his side, the snake curled around his arm.

"I thought she was supposed to help!" Draco said accusingly, frowning at the snake. The snake hissed at him in return, its forked tongue flickering wildly.

"She did all she could," Harry said sadly, stroking down the snake's back. "But he's just too strong…you should get out of here, Draco."

Draco stared at him incredulously. "Are you crazy? You think I'd honestly just leave?"

Harry bit his lip, closing his eyes and drawing in a shuddering breath. "Please, Draco."

"No."

"Draco, as long as we're linked together, he'll destroy your mind along with mine! Is that what you want? What about your mother?"

"Fuck you, Harry," Draco spat, grabbing Harry's wrists. "You wouldn't leave me, even when I begged, and I'll be damned if I don't return the favor."

Harry's eyes widened, but he didn't attempt to pull away. "He's too strong, Draco."

"No, he only _thinks_ he's too strong. Now, tell that snake of yours to give a nice bite to the nose-less wonder, because I'm going in."

"Draco -"

"Now, Harry! We're running out of time!"

Harry frowned, but quickly hissed out instructions to the black snake. The snake hissed back, looking at Draco with slight distrust.

"Okay, she says she'll do it," Harry said after a moment. He placed the snake in front of the ever-growing link, and she slid in as if into water.

Harry gripped Draco's wrist tightly. "Please be careful."

Draco squeezed back. "I love you, Harry," he said softly, carefully pulling out of Harry's grasp. He raised his wand at the link, all the while knowing full well that he was doing no such thing, but needing the security of the action, nonetheless.

"_Legilimens_!" he screamed, putting all of his and Harry's magic and willpower into the action. Then, before he could lose his nerve, he stepped into the link, feeling darkness engulf him.

The first thing Draco was aware of, after the initial darkness had dissipated, was anger and hatred so intense that it nearly choked him. Coupled with it was a horrific _awareness, _a sentient quality that permeated and pierced him immediately; Voldemort knew his mind had been invaded, and he was not happy, his howls of rage echoing throughout the inky darkness. But Voldemort was clearly no Occlumens, and his meager attempts to push Draco out of his mind passed over him like wind.

Draco pushed forward, not caring to waste any time. Harry's mind had been exceptionally dark and oppressive at parts, particularly near some of his childhood memories, but this…this was like breathing in solid waste. It was not an experience he ever cared to repeat, and he repeatedly reminded himself as to his goal - find out about the Horcruxes, then close the link.

"Why are you hurting us?" a voice asked, startling Draco. He whirled around, surprised to see a small, dark-haired boy standing in front of him.

"Who are you?" Draco asked shakily, as the overall feeling of dread had seemed to increase with the boy's presence.

The boy frowned. "I'm Tom. And you shouldn't be here. I can hurt you, you know. I can hurt anybody I want! I'm special, even if they don't think so, but I'll show them!"

_Tom Riddle. _Draco shuddered, shoving the boy as roughly as he could. Tom gave a shriek of rage as he fell, and Draco hurriedly moved past him.

"I'll kill you!" Tom yelled furiously. Then, unexpectedly, he began crying. Draco turned around just in time to see him raise a tear-stained face and grin. "I can't _wait_ to hurt you, now!"

Draco kept walking, leaving Tom, who had begun to wail, sitting by himself. Memories whirled around him at lightning speed, faster than in Harry's mind; the same dark-haired, handsome boy played in dozens of dozens of the memories. In one, Draco caught a glimpse of Tom at perhaps age nine, squeezing a kitten and watching clinically as its eyes bulged and a tiny snap indicated the breaking of bones.

Feeling slightly ill, Draco turned his attention to another memory, this one of a group of crying children huddled in a cave, all cowering from a slightly older Tom Riddle.

"Pathetic, aren't they?"

Draco's head snapped around to find young Tom standing a few feet away, staring. He wasn't watching the memory at all though. Instead, his soulless obsidian eyes were fixed on Draco, fixed with such intensity that Draco imagined he could feel them burning into his skin.

"Why did you hurt them?" Draco asked softly. In the back of his mind he knew it was a pointless question, but he asked anyway.

Tom regarded him as one regards an insect caught and dying in a trap. "That's a stupid thing to ask," he answered with a slight frown. "The people in the orphanage used to ask me that all the time. They were stupid too. So I hurt them."

The memory of the cave slipped away to reveal a teenaged Tom Riddle. He was kneeling on cold, stone floor, deftly carving intricate patterns into the skin of a weeping girl's chest. Draco swallowed.

"I meet stupid people all the time," Draco went on, careful to keep his voice controlled despite what he was witnessing. "But I don't hurt them."

"Stop it!" Tom yelled suddenly, sinking to the ground and clamping his hands over his ears. "I don't like being told what to do!"

Draco felt the memory pass into another, and then another. But he kept talking to Tom, hoping to keep him distracted long enough to find what he really needed.

"I'm not telling you what to do," Draco said. His stomach heaved violently as he watched an old man's blood boil and drain from his body while Tom Riddle stood by, laughing and twirling two other bodies through the air like grotesque marionettes.

A sudden vicious pain in Draco's back sent him reeling to the ground, gasping and choking as the nerves in his spine seemed to dance with white-hot fire.

"_Don't lie to me_," Tom growled, standing over him. He stared at Draco and grinned excitedly. "See? I told you I could hurt you. I don't think you believed me, but I did!"

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on blocking out the pain.

_It's not real, _he told himself. _Your body _isn't _here… your spinal cord _isn't _unraveling… it's all in your mind._

Slowly, very slowly, the agony receded into a dull ache that pulsed up and down Draco's back. Even that, he knew, wasn't real, but he didn't have time to convince himself any further.

"Tom," he wheezed, rolling to his stomach and then to all fours. "What made you decide you didn't want to die?"

As if Draco had taken hold on a delicate tree and shaken for all he was worth, memories began pouring down around him like dead leaves, falling faster than he could keep up with.

First, a flash of a hospital wing. Dozens of children lay stretched out in the beds, yellowish casts to their skin and dying breaths caught on their pallid lips. A very young Tom Riddle peeked from behind a doorway.

Next, Voldemort, as he was now, watching with clinical detachment as a once powerful wizard gasped for mercy even as his chest cavity collapsed and blood gushed from his mouth and nose.

A flash of green light. The screams of a woman holding her baby.

"Ahhh!" Tom screamed and shook his head back and forth like a thing possessed. "Stop it!"

But the memories didn't stop. Glimpses of death and dying, murder and torture, continued to stampede through Voldemort's mind. And Draco watched. He felt sick, possibly sicker than he ever had, but he kept watching, waiting and willing the memory he needed to surface.

"I'm going to kill you!" Tom shrieked, lunging at Draco. Draco cried out in surprise as the boy hurtled into him with far more strength than a sixty-pound boy should have, raging and clawing wildly at Draco's arms, chest, and face.

Until that moment, Draco had been afraid to actually mention Horcruxes. Although Voldemort had little control over his own mind, Horcruxes were his most deeply guarded secret, his most highly valued possession; Draco was afraid if he mentioned them, Voldemort would find the will to force him out of his mind. But as the child version of Tom tore bloody paths down Draco's skin, drawing more blood than the wounds warranted in reality, Draco knew he could wait no longer.

He decided to be as direct as possible.

"Where and what is your Ravenclaw Horcrux, Tom?"

Even as Tom screamed and kicked and clawed, the memory that inadvertently appeared before them was almost peaceful. The man who was once Tom Riddle, but not quite Lord Voldemort, was walking through the halls of Hogwarts, his footsteps echoing hollowly off the stone. Statues stood still as he passed, the figures in portraits huddled together and looked away. And then he stopped walking. A plain door appeared on the wall, causing the waxy-faced man to smile in satisfaction, and he stepped through into a room - a room Draco had spent the majority of his sixth year stowed away in.

Draco barely felt Tom's fingernails dig into his neck, precariously close to his rapidly pulsing blood vessels, as the Room of Hidden Things sprawled out before him. Not-Tom-But-Not-Voldemort walked briskly forward until he came to a nondescript looking dresser cabinet. Junk lay scattered around it in large and varied quantities, making it hardly a prime place to leave one of his Horcruxes, Draco thought, but Voldemort once again smiled and drew something out of his cloak.

"_Engorgio_," he said softly. What appeared to be a doll-sized crown, grew instantly into a shimmering tiara, etched with a slanting quotation that read "_Wit beyond measure is a man's greatest treasure_". Voldemort stroked the tiara with skeletal fingers before setting it down beside several other items - a wig, some books, a broken statue head - and walked away.

Draco jerked away as Tom's claw-like fingers reached for his eyes, losing sight of the memory, but he'd seen enough.

Tom abruptly backed away, his face contorted with rage and tears. "I'm going to kill you now," he whispered.

The same burning pain as before spread through Draco's metaphysical body like wildfire, making him scream and collapse to his hands and knees. This time, however, he had no incentive to stay. Closing his eyes, Draco focused with every ounce of strength on what Harry's mind felt like, so different from the toxicity and agony of this one, and he was suddenly struggling to the surface of the black pool. Though he felt weak and shuddering, Draco kicked and flailed his arms until the viscous, black fluid gave way to air.

"Harry!" Draco yelled hoarsely, gasping for breath and reaching desperately for something to hold. The pool felt like quicksand, sucking him into its depths, and Draco swallowed several mouthfuls of foul liquid as he struggled to stay afloat.

"Draco! Hold on!" he heard. And then a thick, scaly body wrapped around Draco's chest and a pair of grasping hands caught his own. Draco coughed and sucked in air as he was heaved free of the pool, landing in a messy heap on Harry's chest. Vaguely, he could hear Harry hissing frantically, and the darkness around them seemed to recede.

With a groan, Draco rolled onto his back and lay still.

"Draco," Harry said softly from beside him, "can you end the link?"

Draco nodded and whispered _Finite Incantatem. _He sensed rather than felt his magic and mind close into itself and gave a soft sigh at the sensation of being alone once more. Before Harry could say anything else, Draco withdrew completely and opened his real eyes. Sharp pain lanced behind his irises and he swallowed, wondering what mental wounds had been inflicted there.

"Harry?" he whispered, afraid what movement might do to him at the moment.

Harry made a soft noise and squeezed his hand tightly. When he spoke, his voice sounded tight and out of breath. "I'm here… Are you alright? I tried to keep him busy, but… but I know it probably wasn't enough."

Emotion welled up in Draco's chest and he forced himself to turn his head. Harry gazed back at him through shining eyes. His forehead was streaked with blood and sweat.

"We're both alright," Draco answered, squeezing Harry's hand in return. "And I got what we needed."

Harry's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yeah… really."

Harry smiled. "Good. Because I don't think I can do that again any time soon."

Draco silently agreed but the overwhelming need to close his eyes won out.

He felt Harry's other hand rest on his chest.

"Feel free to pass out now," Harry said, positioning his body against Draco's in a tight cocoon of warmth. "I'll be here when you wake up. Just like you were for me."

**Please review and let us know what you think!**


	26. Chapter 26

**Hello lovelies! Sorry it took us so long to post…the chapters will hopefully come along faster from here on out. Thanks for the reviews from the last chapter!**

Harry didn't sleep well for the remainder of the night, finding that his mind refused to stay silent, in spite of the link being closed. Curled up at Harry's side, Draco slept peacefully, in an apparently untroubled sleep, although pure exhaustion was a far more likely culprit. Harry was exhausted himself, the weight of his responsibilities pressing against him with utmost persistence. One more Horcrux to destroy, then Nagini, then…

What if he couldn't do it? What if, even with all the Horcruxes destroyed, Voldemort still managed to best him? And furthermore, if Harry were killed, would anybody else willingly step up to the plate and finish where he'd left off?

Harry couldn't help but suppress a shudder. He didn't want to die, after all. He was seventeen years old - such thoughts of mortality should have been the last thing on his mind. Perhaps as or more distressing than the thoughts of possible death, though, was the fear of what would become of his friends - of Draco - if something were to happen to him. Not that Harry was so vain or self-centered as to believe that all would be lost without him, but if the prophesy _was_ true, then he, and only he, could destroy Voldemort. But if Harry himself was the one to be destroyed, then what?

Harry curled more tightly against Draco's sleeping form, wrapping an arm protectively around his chest and resting his head lightly between Draco's shoulder blades. Draco didn't stir, his breaths remaining deep and steady. He wished that he knew how to tell Draco how much he really meant to him, how he'd never imagined that he, Harry - bumbling, inadequate, and painfully awkward that he was - could have ever found himself as cared for, as loved, as Draco made him feel. Harry wished to tell him this and more, but then again, he'd never considered himself the most articulate of persons.

But, he told himself, before he faced Voldemort for what could possibly be the final time, he would tell Draco this: that he'd been happier and more at home with Draco than he'd ever been anywhere else or with anyone, and that no matter what happened, everything would be alright.

* * *

"So, er, I have something to tell you," Harry announced the next morning as the four of them settled on one side of the tent for breakfast. Ron nodded listlessly, raising an arm to give a muffled yawn into his bathrobe. Even Hermione appeared more bleary-eyed than usual, leading Harry to ponder on why they were so tired - then deciding he would rather not go there.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked, yawning against her hand.

"Last night, Voldemort attacked my mind while I was asleep," he blurted.

"What?" Ron and Hermione demanded in near-unison. Draco, seated close enough beside Harry so that their arms brushed, smirked slightly.

"Yeah…er, it was pretty bad…that is, until Draco used the linking spell again -"

"After what happened last time?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"There was no time to do anything else," Draco said defensively. "And besides, it worked."

"More than that, even," Harry cut in quietly. "Draco was incredible - he entered Voldemort's mind, and he found out what the next Horcrux is."

Draco, for once, seemed slightly abashed by the praise, looking down and nervously picking at a fingernail. And Harry thought he understood why - Draco had told him, albeit briefly, some of the horrors he had encountered in Voldemort's mind, and Harry had been aware via the linking spells of the pain and disgust he had felt throughout the experience. Harry also knew that Draco didn't care to rehash anything more than he had to, and Harry was determined that he wouldn't be forced to.

"Well, what is it?" Ron asked impatiently, apparently unaware of the undercurrent of tension radiating from Draco. Hermione did, apparently, and patted Draco's arm reassuringly. Draco shrugged away from her slightly, eyeing her warily.

"I'm not a child, Granger. I don't need to be coddled."

Hermione rolled her eyes, apparently not taken aback in the least. "Do continue, then."

"It's a tiara sort of thing," Harry cut in. "With an inscription-"

"-wit beyond measure is a man's greatest treasure," Draco quoted easily, leaning back against his palms. He gave Hermione a pointed look. "Surely you, of all people, recognize that quote?"

Hermione nodded eagerly, her face lighting up. "Ravenclaw's Diadem! Yes, that makes perfect sense! Did you happen to see where he's hidden it?"

"In the Room of Requirement, at Hogwarts." Draco scowled slightly. "But you do realize, of course, that we can't just waltz on over there and into the Room of Requirement? If not only for the fact that the Carrows and Severus Snape are there, which is a big enough problem, but Voldemort knows what I saw in his mind. He knows that we're looking for and destroying his Horcruxes, and of course he's counting on us skipping on over as quickly as possible - if we go, I can guarantee you he'll be there."

Ron paled slightly, his freckles standing out starkly, but nodded gravely. "It's a risk we'll have to take, I reckon." Hermione nodded in agreement, her jaw set firmly.

"Gryffindors," Draco muttered disdainfully under his breath. "Honestly, do you think that would work? I thought our goal was to destroy the Horcruxes, thereby leading to the Dark Lord's demise and ultimately resulting in saving the world - not committing suicide."

"We have to try!" Ron protested indignantly. He turned to Harry questioningly. "Don't we?"

Harry nodded distractedly, as Draco's words had somehow jarred a memory to the surface of a long-forgotten conversation with Dumbledore.

Draco made a sound of disgust. "Harry…"

Harry held up a hand. "Just a minute, Draco. I think all of you are right - Ron, you're right that we need to try, and Draco, you're right that we don't want to get killed in the process. Well, I was just remembering something…last year, when Dumbledore was telling me about what Voldemort was like in school, he told me that Voldemort always wanted to believe he was special, that he had extraordinary abilities and was somehow better than the rest of us. And I got to thinking…why would he have put a Horcrux, a piece of his own immortality in the Room of Requirement, where potentially thousands of students could one day find it?" He shook his head. "I don't think he would. I think that, in his mind, he was the only person able to access the room, because of how special he thought he was. So, if I'm right, then maybe he's not even worried that we'll be able to get to it. And maybe he won't be there."

"And furthermore," Hermione added. "As we're all aware, once the room is in use, it cannot be accessed by anyone else."

"Who doesn't have need of it," Ron said thoughtfully, frowning. "But V-Voldemort…I'm thinking he would _need_ to protect his Horcrux pretty badly." He shrugged, glancing around the semi-circle. "Am I right?"

"Absolutely," Draco said immediately, sounding surprisingly polite, considering he was addressing Ron. "Which is why we've got to think of a better plan than simply running over there immediately. And if Harry's theory holds up - and it actually makes a lot of sense, Harry - then we don't have to worry about him moving it, because he doesn't believe it can be found."

Harry sighed, touching Draco's arm lightly. "What would you suggest, then, Draco?" Harry asked gently.

Draco exhaled softly. "I don't know," he said quietly.

"Well, there's a bloody brilliant plan," Ron muttered, staring at his lap. Draco and Harry both opened their mouths to retort but Hermione beat them to it.

"Sarcasm won't help, Ronald," she scolded. "We all need to think about this. Whatever we do has to be thoroughly planned out, like Draco said. We can't simply rush in and expect everything to work out."

Harry raised his eyebrows. Good thing they'd never taken that course of action in the past then… Beside him, Draco's mouth quirked slightly.

And then, quite suddenly, a thought struck Harry and he gasped aloud, causing all three of his companions to turn to him in alarm.

"Harry?" Draco grabbed his hand.

"The Marauder's Map!" Harry exclaimed. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it immediately. "It can get us in! I've done it before, after all."

Hermione's face lit up and she practically bounced in place. "Oh, Harry! That's brilliant!"

Harry grinned. "We can go in through the passage in Honeydukes and then take whatever path takes us closest to the Room of Requirement. If we're lucky, no one will even know we're there."

"You don't think anyone else knows about those tunnels?" Draco asked, looking vaguely alarmed.

"The twins were the only ones who knew," Harry answered with a shake of his head. "And I've never told anyone else."

"That doesn't sound too bad," Ron said.

Hermione sighed. "Harry," she said slowly, "you're forgetting something."

Harry shook his head vigorously. "No, it's alright if we don't have it, Hermione. I've practically got that part - the tunnel, that is - memorized, believe me." He paused, taking note the frown hadn't left Hermione's face. "What?"

But it was Draco, rather than Hermione, who answered, "who made the map, Harry?"

Harry frowned in return. "You know who made it. My dad, Sirius, Lupin, and…" As quickly as it had arisen, Harry's feelings of triumph vanished. "… and Wormtail. Fuck."

"Fuck indeed," Draco commented dryly.

For a few moments the four of them sat there morosely, their briefly shared elation quelled, and as dulled as a faded Galleon.

"So," Ron said after a moment, picking at the frayed end of his Weasley sweater.

"Yeah," was Draco's monosyllabic response. He sighed, raising a hand to push his hair back tiredly. It wasn't lost on Harry how tired Draco had been lately, nor how completely he tried to hide it. Harry felt a lump rise in his throat, felt his eyes sting slightly. If he couldn't defeat Voldemort as he was meant to, what would become of Draco? Would he continue to grow weaker and weaker with every repeat of Hermione's spell, until-

"Oh!" Hermione cried suddenly, her hair flouncing around her shoulders as she bounced upright and stood to her feet. "Oh, we're so stupid, I can't believe I didn't think of this before!"

"What the hell are you on about, Granger?" Draco asked, staring at her incredulously. But of course, Draco hadn't experienced Hermione's many epiphanies throughout the years, and Harry could understand why they might be startling. Ron and Harry, on the other hand, simply waited patiently for Hermione to continue.

"Wormtail!" she said shrilly. "Harry, have you forgotten that you saved his life back in third year? He owes you a life debt!"

"Well, yeah, of course I remember, Hermione. But this is Wormtail…I doubt he's planning to pay up anytime soon."

Draco snorted, rubbing at his forehead as though he had a headache. "Honestly, Potter…"

Ron patted Harry's arm sympathetically. "It doesn't really work like that, mate."

"Harry," Hermione said, sounding slightly exasperated. She sank back to the floor in front of Harry. "A life debt between two witches or wizards is bound with magic. It doesn't matter if one of them doesn't want to 'pay up', the person owing the debt is compelled to do so."

"Oh," Harry said dully, suddenly feeling quite stupid. "I guess I didn't really know how it worked."

He felt Draco's hand grasp his, the fingers entwining with Harry's and stroking softly. "My mother had an uncle or cousin on her mother's father's side…something of that sort…a Black, of course. Absolutely mad, I hear, much like Aunt Bella. Pretty common for the Blacks, actually." He grimaced. "But anyway, to make a long story short, he owed a life debt to a Mud-_Muggleborn_, and he tried to get out of it by hiring someone to kill the Muggleborn. Apparently, just as the Muggleborn was killed, my relative raised his wand to his own head, unable to control himself, and Avada Kedavra'd himself right there. My grandfather Black saw it all."

Harry shuddered slightly at the thought of someone being forced to end their own life, knowing they had fucked up for the last time. He didn't want anybody to do that, of course…not for him. Even Wormtail.

"Lovely," Hermione said at the conclusion of Draco's story. She wrinkled her nose slightly. "I guess it was too much for him, knowing he was indebted to someone he considered inferior…"

"Yes, well, the point is, Wormtail won't be able to betray us. If he tries to, he'll die." Draco shrugged carelessly.

Ron nodded thoughtfully. "So, we need to go to Honeydukes, then. I guess we should all wear glamours, don't you think?"

"Yes, of course," Hermione agreed quickly. "And then what, Harry? We follow the tunnel to Hogwarts, sneak in the castle somehow, go to the Room of Requirement and hopefully destroy the diadem?"

"Er, that sounds about right," Harry said, biting his lip nervously. Putting their plan into words made it sound terribly simple, which, from his experience, either meant it was a great plan or a stupid one. Hopefully, it was the former.

* * *

Though not one of them knew it, as the sun dipped slowly into the horizon that evening, the four of them shared their final meal together around the campfire.

Harry had cooked, rather than Hermione - and thankfully, rather than Ron - and so Draco made a valiant effort to enjoy his food, to not simply curl into a ball, shaking with the looming despair and fear he'd felt all day. Draco had feigned nonchalance before, usually more for his own benefit than another's, but today the effort was all for Harry. Harry, who couldn't hide his emotions if his life depended on it, who was nervous as hell, scared as hell, and more than anything, terrified for everyone's sake but his own. And it was that that scared Draco the most.

"Are you alright?"

Draco glanced up. Harry stared back, clearly concerned, the all too familiar question still poised on his tongue.

"Just not very hungry," Draco mumbled, shrugging lightly. In truth, his stomach rumbled with hunger. Only he was afraid what would happen if he ate.

Harry eyed him doubtfully. His green eyes swept over Draco's thin frame and Draco hugged his arms around his torso defiantly.

"I'm fine, Harry," Draco insisted with a sigh. "Eat your food."

Ron whispered something to Hermione under his breath. Hermione reddened and hissed at Ron to shut up.

Draco barely noticed.

Why couldn't Harry seem more concerned with himself for once? For years Draco had teased and goaded Harry because of that very trait in him, that self-sacrificial, protector-of-the-world, overall irritating savior-complex of his. Draco used to find it stupid. Now he found it terrifying. Harry was always so concerned with everyone's welfare that, when it came down to it, Draco wasn't sure if he wouldn't sacrifice himself completely, if it meant helping others.

"Are you almost ready to go?" Hermione was standing, her familiar pack of shrunken belongings already slung across her shoulders. Draco realized the others were done eating, the moon now visible in the misty skies above. He rose slowly.

"I've been ready," he snapped. Hermione rolled her eyes and trudged back over to Ron, belting out orders in her normal, bossy voice.

"Everything's going to be fine," Harry spoke softly. He was the only one still sitting at the campfire with Draco.

Draco scowled. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Harry grabbed his right forearm and squeezed tightly. "Don't act like that, alright? I'm scared too."

"Scared of what?" Draco muttered, slumping his shoulders and relaxing in Harry's grasp.

"What do you think?" Harry said. He deftly stroked Draco's hair with his other hand. Shivers raced up and down Draco's spine.

"Promise me you won't do anything too… too Gryffindorish." Draco let his head fall forward so Harry could reach him better.

"Too Gryffindorish?" The grin was evident in Harry's voice. "Alright," he answered. "You have to make the same promise then. Nothing too brave and daring."

Draco snorted. "I meant 'stupid'. And I would never dream of it."

Harry snorted back. "Right."

Draco looked up. "I'm fucking serious, Potter."

"I know," Harry replied, his countenance sobering quickly. "I mean it too. You've done some pretty crazy things for me. Crazy, _stupid _things. I'd rather our next adventure be somewhat less dramatic."

"Less dramatic?" Draco smiled half-heartedly. "I don't think you have it in you, Harry. No offense."

"Ha ha," Harry said, grinning wryly.

Several minutes later, Hermione befitted them all with several layers of glamours, aspiring to make each of them as nondescript and forgettable as possible. Ron's fiery red hair became light-brown and shorter, Harry's lightning bolt scar dissolved into unmarked skin, Draco shrunk an inch or two in height. By the time she was done, none of them looked anything like their former selves. And that, of course, was exactly what they were going for.

The plan was simple when laid out in a few sentences. Apparate to Hogsmeade. Be prepared with story of how they sneaked out of Hogwarts for a stroll around town in case they were questioned. Go through the tunnel in Honeydukes that led to the school. Go to the Room of Requirement, find, and if possible, destroy the Diadem. Leave.

It sounded simple.

No one really thought it would be.

Nervously wiping an arm across her forehead, Hermione glanced around at each of them.

"Are we all ready?" she asked for possibly the hundredth time.

"Are we leaving tonight or sometime next week?" Draco drawled, crossing his arms. He smiled at Hermione's frown. It helped defer his own unease.

Harry shifted beside him. "We're ready, Hermione."

She took a breath, nodded curtly. "Alright. Let's go then."

They had agreed beforehand to Side-Along, so in the case that something went wrong, at least two of them would always be together at a time. Draco had been somewhat relieved when Harry had suggested it actually, not because he was afraid any of them would mess up the Apparition, but because he didn't know if he could handle such a long-distance jump. His Mark hadn't been giving him any more trouble than usual lately, but their recent excursions into Voldemort's mind had been exhausting on many levels, leaving Draco feeling more tired than he cared to admit. Harry, of course, had experienced the same thing, but he'd managed to do what Draco hadn't and bounced back easily. He supposed that came from the years of practice Harry had.

The town of Hogsmeade appeared before them in a sprawling array of boarded up houses, flickering lamps, and quickly moving people. Draco swallowed as he glanced around. The last time he'd been here, he'd come with a bottle of poisoned mead that had nearly killed Ron sometime later.

"Let's go," Harry said in a low voice. No one raised an objection.

Snow crunched softly under their feet as they walked, and no one they passed paid more than a hurried glance. Soon they came in sight of the pubs. _The Three Broomsticks _was bustling with activity, inside and out. Draco thought he caught of glimpse of Madam Rosmerta's blonde-brown hair. He felt faintly sick.

"Everyone keep your eyes down," Hermione whispered, though loudly enough to be heard over the commotion. "Just keep walking."

Ron made a sort of strained sound in his throat.

"It's not much further," Harry said.

Raucous, clearly drunken laughter combined with loud music and the clinking of glasses swelled around them, despite keeping as much of a distance as possible. Draco couldn't help but glance up every so often, sneaking a look to see if he recognized any of the pub-goers. There were a couple that seemed vaguely familiar, but no more so than a distant relative who once attended family festivities seemed familiar. That was a good sign.

"Maybe _he _really doesn't think we'd come here," Draco spoke, his tone hushed so only Harry could hear it.

Harry nodded and smiled half-heartedly. "I told you he's an arrogant bastard."

"That I know," Draco muttered, glancing warily at the various passers-by.

* * *

To Harry, Hogsmeade seemed surprisingly normal, as if somehow isolated entirely from the outside chaos of war.

Or perhaps, Harry thought, as he caught a glimpse of a filthy, drunk man talking to himself outside of the Hog's Head - perhaps he was just optimistic.

Seeing the man, Hermione bit her lip as if to go to him, but Ron tugged incessantly on the sleeve of her robe. "Hermione…" he said softly, in an intimate voice which made Harry slightly uncomfortable. So that was how they talked to each other when no one else was around…Harry blushed slightly, turning away from Ron and Hermione, and away from the unfortunate man, who had begun staring after them with watery, clouded eyes.

They had walked several more paces when suddenly Draco came to a halt, putting out an arm to stop Harry, Ron, and Hermione as well.

"Look," he said urgently, nervously eying a small group congregating rather conspicuously in front of Honeydukes.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, frowning, but Draco acted as if he hadn't heard her, pushing the three of them in the opposite direction of Honeydukes.

"Mind explaining what the hell is going on?" Ron said indignantly, once Draco had them successfully maneuvered out of sight of Honeydukes.

Draco was silent for a moment, sidling against a nearby vacant building and leaning heavily against the wall. Harry touched his arm hesitantly, surprised to feel him shaking.

"Draco?" Harry asked quietly, ever conscious of Ron and Hermione watching them. "What's wrong?"

Draco drew in a sharp breath. "You really didn't recognize them, Harry?"

Harry had, now that he thought about it, but so many of the faces from his time at the Manor were a painful blur.

He nodded. "I do - they were at the Manor, weren't they?" He frowned. "But how…I thought Wormtail couldn't tell them anything because of the life debt he owes me?"

Draco shrugged. "They're here, aren't they? Maybe Voldemort found out on his own, or maybe he performed Legilimency on Wormtail - it's not as if he'd stand a chance fighting him off - one way or the other, there's Death Eaters standing in front of the sweet's shop." He gave a small laugh. "It's actually pretty bizarre when you put it that way, isn't it?"

Harry smiled slightly. "No more bizarre than the rest of my life, I guess." Draco returned his smile hesitantly, gulping almost imperceptibly before looking away.

"I wonder why they're guarding it like that?" Hermione asked, stepping closer. "I mean, it's not as if they were terribly secretive about it or anything. It seems that if Voldemort really wanted to catch us at it, they would have been hiding inside Honeydukes, or even in the tunnel itself."

"Maybe they weren't guarding it," Ron suggested helpfully, shrugging. He put a hand gingerly on Hermione's shoulder. "Maybe they were just standing there."

"Maybe," Hermione said doubtfully. She didn't move, allowing Ron's hand to continue resting on her shoulder, his fingers flexing slightly. "But somehow, I doubt it." She paused, looking at Draco, who had pushed himself off the wall and was standing with his arms crossed, his brow furrowed thoughtfully.

"Do you think they saw us?" Harry asked him.

Draco inclined his head towards Harry, seeming slightly surprised to find himself standing there. "Maybe. They wouldn't recognize us, though. And I'm sure they're used to people avoiding them."

"So, what are we going to do? The only other way I can think of to get to Hogwarts would be to Apparate to the Forbidden Forest, and I don't know which would be worse - giant spiders and centaurs, or Death Eaters."

"I'll take my chances with the centaurs," Ron said solemnly. "But please, no spiders, Harry. I'm begging you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Okay, so the Forbidden Forest is out - not that I'm personally scared of the Acromantula or the centaurs, after all, they're fellow magical beings that should be treated with our respect - but because it simply isn't practical, and none of us are familiar enough with it to Apparate there."

"Respect won't stop the spiders from wrapping you in their webs and feeding you bit by bit to their children, Hermione," Ron countered, sounding slightly defensive.

"Anyway," Draco cut in. "Weasley's childhood phobias aside, we need to get into that sweet's shop." He glanced from face to blank face, finally giving a great sigh. "Let's not all speak at once, shall we?"

Then an idea struck Harry, an idea so simple it was laughable. "Why don't we just walk right past them and go in there? Like you said, Draco, it's not as if they'd recognize us. Who knows why they're just standing there?"

"You want us to walk past them," Draco said dubiously, looking at Harry as though he'd grown a third head. "Past people whom I've seen methodically torture small children and then have afternoon tea?"

Harry wondered, not for the first time, how Draco could be so blasé at times, yet knew intuitively that it was the fear talking. So he nodded, taking Draco's hand.

"The things you talk me into, Potter," Draco said with a sigh, his fingers clenching around Harry's.

As it turned out, getting past the Death Eaters was actually quite anticlimactic, considering the amount of worry it had generated in them. Perhaps it was the lack of Death Eater robes, garments which lent themselves to increased cruelty due to the freedom of anonymity, but the four men stationed outside of the Honeydukes simply looked normal. These were men who saw torture as simply a hazard of their job, who could view rape and bloodshed with dispassionate eyes before going home to their wives and hugging their children. They should have looked monstrous, but yet they didn't. And that, to Harry, was the most terrifying part - that monsters could so easily pass as human.

"Hey!" called one of the men, a ruddy faced, stocky man who reminded Harry of a grown-up version of Dudley.

They all stopped, the four of them poised at the entrance of Honeydukes. Harry's heart pounded against his chest, feeling as though it were threatening to claw to freedom. Draco drew in a deep breath, not even bothering to turn around. Harry could hardly blame him - Draco had seen these men at their finest, whereas all Harry had were muddled, distorted memories. And he was glad for it.

Hermione, however, was apparently unfazed. "Yes?" she asked innocently, her hand poised just above the door handle.

The man leered at her slightly, but gave a curt nod. "You kids shouldn't be out this late, you know. Next time I'll turn you into the Carrows for being out past curfew, but I figure there's no harm done, aye?"

Hermione just smiled at him graciously, even though Harry felt as though his skin were crawling.

"Move," Draco hissed under his breath.

Harry offered a sheepish smile as they quickly sidled past the Death Eaters, moving inside the shop and closing the door quietly behind them.

"Where to?" Ron asked, anxiously glancing around.

Harry took a step forward, pointing. "It's back here - "

"Stop right there!"

They all froze as an unfamiliar lady suddenly stepped out from behind a shelf, hands on her bulging hips, eyes narrowed. Harry mentally smacked himself. The shopkeeper. Why hadn't they thought about her? "What the hell are you four getting at?" she was saying. "Being out here this late? You _know _I'll have to tell the Headmaster about this."

Once again, Hermione stepped forward, wringing her hands nervously. "Oh, please don't turn us in…" Her eyes began to water. "Please, we just lost track of time. It's never happened before. He's had a cold, you see - "

As Hermione continued to babble heartfelt excuses, eyes tearing up more and more as she went on, Harry sought frantically for a solution. They could explain why they were out late until tomorrow morning, it still wouldn't be an excuse to go to the back-room, and subsequently the cellar, to find the passage entrance. Suddenly he realized Draco was moving very slowly, his wand peaking out from the hem of his robes.

"What are you doing?" Harry breathed in his ear. Draco ignored him. And then, quite abruptly, the lady turned and sat down on the floor.

Hermione broke off mid-sentence. "…What?…"

Harry stared for a moment, first at the women, who appeared no more interested in them than in a passing piece of dust, and then at Draco. Draco caught his eye and shrugged.

"Someone had to do something," he said simply, glancing toward the door.

"Oh my god," Ron gasped. "You put the Imperius curse on her, didn't you?"

"Don't be thick, Weasley," Draco snapped, flushing angrily. "I confunded her. It's completely different."

Harry, who had once been on the receiving end of Draco's Confundus charm, wasn't sure he agreed entirely - but he didn't say anything. Right now, they had bigger problems.

"Good thinking." Hermione nodded curtly to Draco. "Harry? The passage?"

"Right, let's go." Grabbing Draco's hand, they walked quickly to the back room and, one by one, down to the cellar where Harry knew the entrance to be.

"This is it," Harry said excitedly, his pulse increasing as the familiar site came into view. He grinned at Draco, who smiled hesitantly back. "I can't believe they wouldn't do something about it…" Harry paused. Draco's face had drained of color and he was staring. "What?…"

"Hello there, children," the man once known as Peter Pettigrew said, crossing his arms casually, stepping into the glow of their wands. "What brings you here tonight?"

_He doesn't know it's us_, Harry reminded himself quickly, even as his stomach clenched in fear. _We're just some random students… in the basement of a sweet's shop… after curfew…_

Wormtail flinched visibly as four different wands pointed at him, but the watery smile and knowing confidence didn't leave his face.

"J-just let us pass," Ron demanded shakily, eyes wide.

"Let you pass?" Wormtail shook his head. "No, I can't do that." He stared at them for a moment, eyes lingering far too long on Harry.

"I think you have to," Harry said. He straightened his arm, extending the tip of his wand into Wormtail's doughy neck.

Wormtail blinked. "Is that you, Harry? And… and Ron, Hermione? I thought so… I have to tell the others…"

Harry didn't back away. "You can't," he said softly, realization striking him. "You can't tell the others. That's why you're down here, isn't it? So you could stop us yourself."

"No, no, no," Wormtail moaned, shuddering slightly. "The Dark Lord told me you would be coming to Hogwarts…I knew I could stop you without hurting you, Harry, don't you see? I'm just trying to help you, that's what I'm doing! This isn't fair..."

"What's not fair is that you're still talking," Draco growled, edging forward alongside Harry. "You're just as useless as ever, Wormtail. You might as well give up before we have to hurt you."

"Harry," Hermione whispered. "If he can't tell on us, we should just Stupefy him and go."

Wormtail made a mewling noise in his throat. "Draco? You're here too? I don't understand. I can't contact the Dark Lord… I can't… I can't even…"

"You owe him a life-debt, you imbecile," Draco went on, narrowing his eyes.

Harry nodded. "And now you're paying up, whether you like it or not."

He and Draco stepped back hastily as Wormtail collapsed to the floor and vomited. The rat-like man groaned and panted, holding himself up on all fours.

"Don't do this to me," he pleaded, looking around at the four of them. "Please, he'll… he'll kill me! You d-don't understand!"

Harry snorted.

"We don't understand?" Draco repeated incredulously. He leaned down, looking Wormtail in the eyes. Harry shivered; he'd rarely seen a look that cold on Draco's face, even if it wasn't technically his face it was on now. The effect was the same.

"You'll be lucky," Draco said softly, each word like a shard of ice, "if he kills you." He stood up. "And Wormtail, speaking from personal experience, I wouldn't count on it."

Wormtail vomited again, dry-heaved several times, and then collapsed sobbing on the floor. Harry nearly felt pity for him. This weak, pathetic excuse for a man, reduced to… nothing. But he'd chosen it all - to betray his friends, to murder innocents, to grovel daily on the ground to a half-dead madman. Harry shook his head.

"_Stupefy_," he said. The ensuing silence was immense. Draco took hold of his hand once more.

"Let's go," Ron finally spoke, still staring at Wormtail.

**Please review!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Thanks for the reviews! **

"So," Ron said after a moment. "Do you reckon Wormtail told those men to wait for us outside Honeydukes?"

Draco shook his head, feeling slightly claustrophobic from the ever narrowing walls of the tunnel. They all had their wands lit, but frankly, Draco would have preferred to not see the occasional skeletal arm (or possibly just branches) sticking out from the wall. He looked down instead, watching as dust clouds mushroomed around their kicking feet.

"Wormtail probably hinted," he said finally, drawing in a shaky breath. At least they were close to Hogwarts - he could feel it, somehow. "Or strongly suggested. I'm surprised they listened to him at all, actually."

"I almost feel sorry for him," Hermione said softly from a few paces ahead. "I know it's all of his making but…no one should have to live like that."

Harry was quiet, which surprised Draco slightly, as he'd expected at least a small snort of derision. After all, Wormtail was ultimately the one responsible for the death of his parents - Draco didn't think he would have let such a comment pass, had he been in Harry's situation. But then again, Draco readily accepted that Harry was a better person than him. And Draco was a bit glad, actually - while Harry would never actively seek revenge, Draco entertained notions of turning Harry's Muggle relatives into toads or rats, simply because they had hurt Harry. And that paled in comparison as to what he would do to Voldemort, given the chance.

"I don't feel sorry for him at all," Ron said brashly after a moment, kicking a vicious cloud of dust into existence. "And he was _my _rat, Hermione, so I think I deserve a say, too."

"Yes, and as I recall, you blamed poor Crookshanks for eating him at one point."

"As if that bloody cat knew the difference! It's not like it has feelings, Hermione."

Hermione just sniffed. "That shows what _you _know, Ronald."

The two of them then proceeded to talk heatedly for several minutes, virtually ignoring Draco and Harry. Draco nearly breathed an audible sigh of relief when he felt Harry's hand snake back into his - as ridiculous and utterly sappy as it sounded, he somehow felt more anchored to the world when Harry touched him.

When they were nearly to Hogwarts, Hermione halted, urging the others to stop as well.

"Uniforms!" she said, sounding slightly panicked. "We can't just walk around Hogwarts not looking like students!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Granger. We'll just transfigure what we're wearing now…I don't understand the sudden need for melodrama about it."

"Oh, you're one to talk about melodrama, Malfoy…" Ron muttered. Draco ignored him.

Hermione shook her head. "It would take far too long to transfigure all of our clothing, not to mention that Ron and Harry are completely hopeless at it."

"Hey!" Ron and Harry said in indignant unison. Draco couldn't help but smirk.

In the end, they settled on various glamours to create what hopefully amounted to passable representations of the Hogwarts uniforms. After Harry had cast a glamour over Draco's clothes to appear as a Slytherin uniform, Draco did the same for Harry, Slytherin tie and all.

Draco shrugged upon seeing Harry's questioning look. "You couldn't have expected me to make a _Gryffindor_ tie, now, did you?" And besides, the green seriously brought out Harry's eyes - a thought which made Draco cringe inwardly at the utter ponciness of it.

Harry just grinned. "I suppose not." His grin vanished slightly, and his eyes met Draco's solemnly. "Draco, I…" he swallowed nervously and bit his lip, looking away.

Draco glanced at Ron and Hermione, still absorbed in the making of their own glamours, then back at Harry, who was staring at his feet with apparent trepidation.

" Hey." Draco touched Harry's wrist softly. Harry was apparently quite worried, which calmed Draco considerably. He remembered back when he'd believed Harry to never be afraid, which he'd quickly learned to be incorrect. Harry was afraid plenty of times, just rarely for himself. Anything he could say that might make Harry a little less worried about others, therefore more worried about himself, the better.

"Everything will be fine," he said quietly, glancing furtively at Ron and Hermione to ensure they were not paying attention. "I'll be okay, Weasley will be okay, more or less…he's got Hermione to look after him, and we both know that Hermione knows more spells than some professors…"

Harry looked back up, looking slightly surprised. "Oh, no," he said quickly. "That's not…I mean, er." He paused, looking flustered, then shook his head. "Draco, I just wanted to….that is…"

"Are you two ready to go?" Hermione said, suddenly at their side, her garments glamoured to appear as Gryffindor robes. She backed away slightly. "Oh, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Harry shook his head, looking at the ground again. Hermione eyed them both dubiously, but nodded after a moment.

"Good. Let's get moving, then."

The foursome began walking once again in a similar formation from last time - Ron and Hermione in the lead, flanked by Draco and Harry. Draco stole a worried glance at Harry, who happened to look up at the exact same moment.

Harry gave him a small smile and reached for his hand. Draco took it gratefully, feeling a ridiculous rush of warmth surge through him. _I am so far gone_. The thought sprang, unbidden, into his mind; yet Draco found he really didn't care.

Then, they were at Hogwarts. Following the others, Draco crept slowly out from behind the statue of the humpbacked witch. Hermione, who had gone ahead slightly to stake out the corridor, returned after a moment, shaking her head.

"The coast is clear, I think," was the ridiculous Muggle expression she used, yet Draco was able to infer its meaning nonetheless.

To Draco, being back at Hogwarts was beyond surreal, bringing back unfortunate memories of a year spent with the threat of imminent death hanging over his head - every day he'd wondered if perhaps it would be his last, or his mother's last - culminating in the death of the one man who had had the power to protect not only Draco, but his family as well…

Draco shook himself mentally. There was no point dwelling on the past, after all, not when everything, present and future, was riding on their actions.

Cautiously, the four began making their way down the various corridors, finding them to be mostly empty. It was late, after all, and the students should have been in their dormitories. Draco felt a slight twinge as they passed the portraits and classrooms which he had walked by since age eleven, never dreaming of a day in which he'd be forced to hide from the castle's occupants.

Once they began navigating the staircases in order to reach the Room of Requirement, some of the fear of discovery had subsided, and they easily made their way up to the seventh floor.

Harry grinned unabashedly. "Well, that was easy…"

A noise made them jump, and they all exchanged an uneasy glance when Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, sprang into view, her ears drawn back and growling under her throat.

"Can I stupefy it?" Ron asked Hermione hopefully.

Hermione frowned at the question, shaking her head. Instead, she crouched in front of the cat, reaching a tentative hand in its direction. "There's no need for all that," Hermione chided the cat softly, stroking lightly behind its ears. "We aren't going to hurt you…"

Mrs. Norris, apparently, disagreed. "Ow!" Hermione cried, jerking back after Mrs. Norris's claws had raked over the back of her hand. The cat let out an unearthly yowl in response, then turned in the other direction and ran.

"Poor thing," Hermione said softly. "We must have scared her to death."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, poor thing."

"We should get moving," Draco said, watching suspiciously as Mrs. Norris disappeared around a corner. "That stupid cat's always up to no good."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she stood up. "Honestly, boys. She's just a cat."

"Just a cat, eh?"

Draco and Harry whirled around, but not fast enough to avoid the claw-like hands that were suddenly gripping the backs of their shirts, held by a leering, wide-eyed Filch.

"What are you all doing out of your common rooms?" Filch spat nastily.

Draco flinched away to avoid the spittle flying out of his mouth, exchanging a brief glance with Harry.

"We're s- sorry, sir," Hermione stammered. She and Ron had backed away a few steps. Filch stared at them with narrowed eyes. "Um, you see, we were studying and - "

"I made a bet with these Gryffindors and we were meeting so they could pay up," Draco interrupted, stopping Hermione before she could go any further. He wriggled around so he could see Filch better. "Bloody sods thought they could talk their way out of it too."

"Oh, get stuffed, you slimy git," Ron jumped in, sounding very Gryffindorish indeed.

Filch glanced between the two of them skeptically. "You know it's against the rules to be making bets between houses. Causes too much tension between students."

Draco held back a snort.

"And," Filch continued, "you'll all receive a healthy dose of the Cruciatus when the Carrows hear about this sneaking out business."

Hermione gasped softly and Filch sneered at her.

"What? Didn't think I'd turn you in?" Filch twisted their shirts tighter in his hands. "I love seeing you kids get what you deserve! Been waiting years for permission to put troublemakers in their proper places. Course, they still won't let me use my spikes…"

He kept muttering as he gave Harry and Draco a shove forward with letting them free.

"Where are we going?" Harry protested.

"Your common rooms, of course," Filch snarled, pushing them again. He gestured with his head at Ron and Hermione. "Come on then! You think I'm gonna leave you here alone?"

Draco had been caught by Filch before, just last year in fact, but never had he felt as apprehensive as he did now. Even though Filch didn't realize it, the other Slytherins would immediately recognize a stranger in their midst, and Draco honestly had no idea how many allies, or enemies, he had there.

"Here we are," Filch announced, several minutes later. With a rough shake, he released Draco and Harry's shirts and extended his finger toward the Slytherin entrance. "If I catch you out here again," Filch called as he began herding Ron and Hermione away, "it'll be the whips!"

As soon as they had walked out of view, Harry grabbed Draco's hand and pulled, taking a step back. "Come on!" he whispered fiercely. "We should go now!"

Draco glanced at the familiar doorway, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over him. "Draco," Harry hissed. "Let's _go_!"

"Wait," Draco said suddenly, a half-formed idea spinning through his mind. "What if we can get help?"

Harry's expression turned instantly disbelieving and Draco bristled slightly.

"Get help from _here_? But they're probably all…" Harry shut his mouth, obviously noting Draco's scowl.

"Yeah," Draco snapped. "They're all Slytherins, Harry. So am I. Look, I have friends here who will help me. It could really matter less what side we're all on."

Harry eyed him doubtfully. "What if someone turns us in?"

"Then we'll be in exactly the same position we are now," Draco answered. He lowered his voice a bit more. "I'm willing to bet Hermione is thinking of the same thing about now. The more people we get involved, the less attention there will be on us. I really think it's our best bet."

The hand holding his tightened. Harry took a deep breath. "Okay," he said softly. "I'll follow your lead."

Draco smirked. "You always do, Potter."

Harry half-smiled in return. "Um, so how do we get in?" he asked, turning to the door.

"Knock," Draco said with a shrug. He rapped sharply on the oaken door, wincing as the sound echoed dully through the empty hallway.

It took a few more knocks, but eventually a small, dark-headed boy poked his head out. Draco recognized him as a quiet first-year from the previous term.

The boy blinked at them. "Who are you two?"

Draco crossed his arms and glared. The boy shrunk back visibly. "What's wrong with you?" Draco scolded. "Opening the door like that? We could've been anyone and you would just let us in? Haven't you learned anything?"

"I.. um," the boy bit his lip.

"You what?" Draco snapped, pushing past the boy and dragging Harry behind him. He glanced surreptitiously around the Slytherin common room, feeling an uncontrollable rush of homesickness. Which was funny, as he'd never considered any part of Hogwarts to be his home before.

He turned back to the boy, who was watching him warily. Meeting Draco's gaze, he took a step backwards.

"I know you're not really in Slytherin," he said with a shaky voice, yet still managing a decisive scowl at Draco and Harry. He trained his wand at them, his wand hand quivering slightly. "I'm going to wake Professor Slughorn."

"And do what, exactly? Explain why you felt the need to let in two strangers into your common room in the middle of the night?"

Harry elbowed him in the ribs, and Draco sighed. This wasn't one of his prefect mind games, after all. He knew all too well what was at stake.

"If I show you who I am, can you do something for me?"

The boy shrugged. "Maybe. Depends on what it is."

Draco glanced once more around the common room, finding it empty except for a single sleeping girl on the couch, whom Draco vaguely recognized as having been in fourth year. Perfect.

Without preamble, Draco dissolved his glamour, watching the boy's face transform from distrust, to confusion, and finally settling on recognition.

"You're Draco Malfoy!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide. "You were a prefect last year, then you disappeared…I heard you've been working for You-Know-Who _and_ Harry Potter…which one is true? Do you really have the Dark Mark?"

Draco nodded, but didn't offer to show the boy his arm. "Look, as I am technically still a prefect, I need you to do something for me - go upstairs to the seventh year boys' room and get everybody down here. Tell them the Giant Squid's breaking through the ceiling - I don't care. Just get them down here."

The boy nodded, then cocked his head slightly in Harry's direction. "Who's he?"

Harry opened his mouth as if to answer, but Draco quickly cut him off. "Nobody important. Just go."

Nodding, the boy turned towards the stairs, half running in his enthusiasm. Draco turned to Harry, who was frowning slightly.

"Harry, you know I didn't mean that," Draco said, allowing a slight tinge of annoyance to color his voice. "They can't know who you are."

Harry looked honestly startled. "No! I know you didn't. I just…are you sure this is a good idea? No offense or anything, but…well, your friends are kind of…"

"Kind of what? Slytherins? Purebloods? Death Eaters?" He snorted mirthlessly. "I seem to recall you saying I should give _your_ friends a chance…guess it doesn't go both ways, does it?"

"That isn't fair," Harry said softly.

"I agree."

Harry gripped his arm, shaking him slightly. "Draco, please. I'm trying, okay? But these are people…their parents are Death Eaters, for the most part, isn't that true? How can you expect me to trust them?"

"Don't act like you know anything about Slytherins, Harry," Draco snapped, feeling slightly stung. "Gryffindors don't hold the monopoly on loyalty, you know."

"Draco…" Harry said quietly, sounding miserable.

Draco opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, when suddenly a resounding shriek filled the air. It took a moment before he realized it was his name.

"Draco!" Pansy caught him in a vice-like hug, squeezing him so tightly he was sure his ribs would collapse. "Draco, I've been so worried! No one would tell me anything, and my owls were always returned…"

Draco gripped his friend back, savoring the contact and feeling slightly guilty that he hadn't even considered contacting her or the other Slytherins.

Draco pulled back slightly, managing a grin. "Up in the boys' dorms again, Pansy?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "You're such a shit, Draco. You know I can't stand it when Queenie snores, and tonight Millicent was pulling her own. And your bed's been empty all year…" Her eyes clouded slightly, and she looked away.

Then he was being crushed on either side, and he managed a choked, "get off!", forcing Crabbe and Goyle to release him. They both backed away, each wearing identical looks of glee and worship.

Goyle sniffed. "Thought I'd never see you again," he said softly. "Thought you might be dead."

"But you're back now, right?" Crabbe asked hopefully. "It hasn't been the same without you."

"Yeah," Goyle grunted. "Been failing everything this year, without you to tutor my stupid arse."

Draco swallowed a lump in his throat, unwilling to lose his composure in front of his old friends. How could he tell them how much he'd missed them, how he wished he'd never taken them for granted?

He stole a glance at Harry, who appeared to be watching the proceedings with slight awe. So far, he had been ignored.

He turned back to Goyle. "You aren't stupid, Greg," he said softly. Goyle's face lit up as though a switch had been turned on, grinning unabashedly at Draco.

"Where are Zabini and Nott?" he asked, looking around the room. The sofa was still occupied by the same girl, who was apparently unbothered by Pansy's shrieking.

"Blaise's mother took him away to France," Pansy explained, looking slightly troubled. "And Theodore has joined his father…I haven't heard from him in weeks."

It went without saying that Nott's father was a Death Eater, and that having joined him, Theodore could very likely be dead. That was the refreshing thing about being around Slytherins once again, Draco thought. They understood these things.

"But, Draco," Pansy went on, "what… what are you doing here exactly? I mean, you're… Well, is it safe?"

Draco smiled slightly, touched, but rather taken aback by her concern.

"I'm not sure where safe is at the moment," he commented wryly. "But no, it's not safe for me to be here. And that's why I need your help."

"Like last year?" Crabbe asked hopefully. Goyle nodded enthusiastically beside him.

Pansy crossed her arms, frowning heavily. "You mean like last year when you ran away and never came back?"

Draco glanced briefly at Harry, who had remained silent throughout the entire exchange so far. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Look," Draco started, allowing a bit of annoyance to color his voice. "It's not the same. I - "

"Who's he?" Pansy interrupted loudly. She had her gaze narrowed in on Harry, as if noticing he was there for the first time.

Crabbe and Goyle, ever the perpetual bodyguards, both took steps forward,. They towered menacingly over Harry.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Back off, you two. He's a friend, alright? He's here to help."

Harry nodded quickly, eyes wide.

"Here to help, is he?" Pansy casually pulled out her wand and began twirling it between her fingers. "Then he won't mind if I end his glamour, will he?"

Draco scowled, silently cursing his friend for being so perceptive. "He's not wearing a glamour, Pansy."

She pursed her lips. "And I'm not stupid, Draco. I've cast a lot of glamours, as you know very well. I think I can recognize the signs."

"Yeah," Crabbe piped in, glaring. "Maybe he's not even who you think he is."

"Or I know exactly who he is and you lot are overreacting," Draco snapped. He stepped from between his friends and grabbed Harry's forearm. "Now are we going to stand here arguing all night or are you going to help me?"

Several things happened then, almost simultaneously. Harry gasped loudly, jerking out of Draco's grasp and clamping his hands to his forehead. Crabbe and Goyle reacted by dragging Draco away from Harry, even as his Mark erupted in boiling agony, and Pansy cast a binding spell and _Finite Incantatum _on Harry. She sucked in a breath as he fell stiffly to the floor.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed. "Potter?"

Draco shrugged roughly out of his Crabbe and Goyle's hold, momentarily too dazed from the pain radiating through his arm to say anything. Breathing harshly through his mouth, Draco collapsed to his knees beside Harry and ended the binding spell.

"He's close," Harry said, blinking blearily up at Draco. "He almost broke through…"

"I know," Draco answered softly. He swallowed, holding his throbbing arm against his chest. "I can feel him too."

"Draco, I would really like to know what the fuck is going on," Pansy said angrily from behind him.

Draco looked up, eyeing his former House-mates through narrowed eyes.

"I'm sure you've heard the rumors," Draco snapped, keeping his voice low. "I think you can figure it out."

"We've heard a lot of rumors," Goyle said. His face was furrowed in confusion. "You haven't really been Imperiused the last six years, have you?"

Draco snorted, slowly getting to his feet. He offered Harry a hand, which he took after a brief glance at the others.

"No, Greg, I'm not under any kind of spell, or curse, or anything of the sort."

"That's not exactly true," Harry pointed out, gently taking hold of Draco's left hand. "You should show them."

"No offense, Potter," Pansy said snidely, "but we've known about that for awhile now. Good to see you've finally caught up, though."

Ignoring Pansy, Draco eyed Harry doubtfully. "I don't see how it matters," he said. And also, the idea of incurring any more pity, particularly from his friends that had looked upon him as a leader for so many years, was less than appealing. Harry, of course, knew him in an entirely different way than they did, and was watching him with a knowing look in his eyes.

"It's not so they can feel sorry for you," Harry spoke very softly. "It's so they can so how strong you are, what you were willing to endure to get away from Vol - from him."

Though it may have been their imaginations, Draco felt a painful twinge even at the half-mentioning of Voldemort's name and Harry winced slightly as well.

"We need to get moving," Harry continued, "whether or not they help, he's getting closer."

Draco nodded. And then, before he could think better of it, peeled back the shirt from his forearm and thrust it outwards.

Pansy drew in her breath sharply, then grabbed Draco's wrist and stared closely at his forearm for several moments.

"What have you done to yourself, Draco?" she asked finally, a mixture of pity and disgust in her voice.

Draco wrenched his arm away, cradling it protectively against his chest before rolling his sleeve back down.

"What I had to," he said after a moment. He scowled at Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle, meeting their eyes defiantly. "And don't you dare feel sorry for me. Doing this takes far more balls than being the Dark Lord's puppet, believe me."

Pansy pursed her lips. "Getting yourself killed takes balls, then? I guess that's why neither notion has ever appealed to me." She smirked slightly, in Harry's direction.

"Fuck you, Pansy. You know what I mean."

Pansy frowned. "No, fuck you, Draco! You think you can just…disappear and abandon us to run around with Potter, and then come crawling back and expect us to help? And help with what, exactly? Defeating the Dark Lord? Because that's impossible, and you know it. You should have listened to me back in fourth year, Draco. My father's advice was to stay neutral in all matters, and that's what you should have done!"

"Well, it's too late for that, now, isn't it?" Draco snapped, flushing. He grabbed Harry's arm, pulling him towards the door. "Come on, Harry, we should just go."

"Wait!" Pansy cried suddenly. Draco turned around.

Pansy stared at them for a moment, then started laughing.

"What?" Draco demanded impatiently.

"You're shagging Potter, aren't you?" she managed to gasp, doubling over with a howl. "This is too good," she choked, hiccupping slightly. "I wish Blaise was here…we made a bet, back in third year…"

Harry nudged Draco, sighing. "We don't have time for this, Draco. Either they help or they don't."

"I'll help," a voice piped in. It was the second year boy who had let them in, whom they'd all but forgotten. He shrugged. "My mum's a Muggle-born, you know, so it would be pretty bad if You-Know-Who won, wouldn't it?"

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a glance.

"You always let me hang around you, even though I'm not very smart," Crabbe said quietly, looking at the floor. "And you always told the funniest jokes that made me laugh, and you helped me with homework sometimes and shared the chocolates your mum sent…and that one time when I spilched my - well, you know what it was - you didn't even make fun of me."

"Yeah," Goyle grunted, flexing his fingers. "You didn't even make fun of me when I asked Parvati Patil to Hogsmeade and she laughed in my face. You even told her to fuck off." He smiled at the memory.

Harry made a small noise, as if trying not to laugh. Draco elbowed him.

"So, I reckon what we're saying is…" Crabbe trailed off, looking slightly confused, then he grinned. "We want to help you, Malfoy. Cause you're the best friend either of us could have had." Goyle nodded in agreement.

At that moment, Harry made a sharp gasp, clutching his scar once again and falling to his knees.

"Harry!" Ignoring the horrific pain in his arm, he knelt beside Harry, placing a hand on his shoulder. Harry's eyes were squeezed shut, and although a hand was pressed firmly over his scar, blood seeped from beneath his clasped fingers.

"He's angry, isn't he?" Draco asked quietly. Unmindful of the others, he gently smoothed Harry's hair away from his forehead.

Harry nodded, grimacing. "Yes," he managed to choke after a moment. He opened his eyes, his pupils dilated with pain. "And he knows we're here."

Something warm and wet was placed in Draco's hand, and he saw with surprise that Pansy had handed him a washcloth.

"Thanks," he muttered, not looking at her. Instead, he gently pried Harry's fingers away from his scar and mopped carefully at the blood.

"Draco," Pansy said quietly, sounding worried. "You and Potter should get out of here. I don't want to panic you, but I think Professor Slughorn will be here any minute. I think the wards on the school might have just been breached."

Draco nodded as he helped Harry to his feet.

"Do you think Slughorn would wanna help?" Crabbe asked, frowning.

"Definitely not," Harry said immediately. All the Slytherins looked at him in surprise.

"I thought you were a favorite of his?" Draco questioned with a raised eyebrow. Slughorn's rejection, though miniscule amongst the much larger events taking place last year, had stung, but Draco was careful to keep that out of his voice now.

Harry shook his head, glancing worriedly towards the doorways. "Slughorn is concerned with Slughorn. We can't count on him. Draco, we _really _should go."

Harry's posture stiffened suddenly and he stared forward. Frowning, Draco placed a hand on the small of his back. Harry blinked.

"There are Death Eaters in the school," he said slowly. "Quite… quite a lot, I think. The Order is arriving too. And others."

Pansy coughed and Draco and Harry both looked over to where she was perched nervously on the edge of a couch.

"How the hell do you know that, Potter?" she growled, though her expression seemed far more apprehensive that angry. "Are you trying to freak us all out? It's not like the Dark Lord himself would show up here…"

Draco opened his mouth to reply but suddenly heavy footsteps and labored breathing signaled a new arrival only paces away from the common room.

"Harry," he hissed, under his breath. "Hide behind the couches. _Now_."

"But - " Harry began to protest. He was abruptly cut off as both Crabbe and Goyle hauled him bodily backwards and to the hidden side of the room - just in time for Professor Slughorn to walk into view.

"Professor," Draco greeted casually, crossing his arms and making sure Slughorn's attention was drawn immediately to him. Slughorn's eyes bulged and he fumbled for his wand.

"What - what?" he stammered. He mopped at his forehead with a handkerchief, wand raised in the opposite hand. "The Malfoy boy? What are earth on you _doing _here? It wasn't you, was it? I never took you for being that powerful…"

Scowling, Draco glanced at Pansy. She offered a wide-eyed shrug.

"There are Death Eaters in Hogwarts, Professor," Draco said, ignoring his rambling. "The Dark Lord is here too."

The older man's face reddened and a blood vessel throbbed in his temple. "And they sent you here to warn us, is that it? I won't let you near these children, Malfoy - you or your cursed father!"

"Oh, haven't you heard?" Draco sneered, heart thrumming in his chest. "My father is dead. Voldemort killed him."

There was a loud, collective gasp in the room after Draco said the name, and his Dark Mark gave an extra-painful pulse against his skin. Pansy softly touched Draco's hand.

"Draco, I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Slughorn continued to stare. "So what?" he spoke loudly, not lowering his wand. "What do you want then?"

"We think you should round up the Slytherins," Pansy jumped in, hopping off the couch and eyeing her head-of-house defiantly. "Get them out of Hogwarts before one of them gets hurt."

Slughorn blinked. "Yes… yes, leaving would surely be the best thing. I'll take them through the a side entrance. Surely our wards haven't been breached that badly yet…"

Draco nearly groaned aloud when Harry, because he was Harry, suddenly stood up, ducking from underneath Crabbe and Goyle.

"No, that won't work," Harry said, ignoring Slughorn, whose mouth was opening and shutting like a fish. "They're everywhere now except the dungeons and a couple towers."

"I thought we couldn't trust him," Draco whispered furiously, grabbing Harry's arm as he came to stand beside him. Harry shot him a look.

"We can't," he hissed back.

Draco frowned. "What - "

An ear-splitting scream shattered the relative silence of the common room. Draco jumped, whirling around to see the second-year boy who had let them in flailing wildly on the floor, screaming and yelling for all he was worth.

Looking precariously close to a nervous-breakdown, Slughorn rushed over to the boy, muttering under his breath, and tried to calm him down. The boy screamed louder.

"What's going on?" a girl asked, walking sleepily into the room along with two others. Soon, several more students, awakened and alarmed by the sudden noise, had arrived as well.

Draco felt Harry grab his hand and pull insistently.

"Let's go," Harry said under his breath.

Flanked closely by Crabbe and Goyle's hulking forms, and unnoticed by an overwhelmed Slughorn, Draco and Harry ducked quickly out of the dungeons and into the battle beyond.


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's Note: Thanks as always to everyone who reviewed! It just means so much to know that people are enjoying this! And here, without further ado, is the next installment…**

It was easy enough to maneuver through the halls, as they had apparently erupted in chaos during their time in the Slytherin common room. There were students in pajamas, looking bleary-eyed and confused, milling about aimlessly. Nobody seemed to notice four additional bodies, so Harry ducked his head, hoping that the abnormally large forms of Crabbe and Goyle would prevent too many inquisitive glances his way.

It was easy enough to not be noticed, but increasingly difficult to maneuver through the panicked students moving erratically in varying directions. Pushing by a sobbing first year girl, Harry couldn't help but stop, and he tugged on Draco's sleeve.

"We've got to do something, Draco," Harry said quietly. Draco turned around, a mixture of fondness and exasperation on his face.

"What can we do?" He stared for a moment at the girl, who was practically catatonic amidst the shuffling crowd, tears drying on her face. He sighed. "Harry, we can't stop and help everyone we see…"

"No, but they shouldn't be out in the halls like this." He looked around in frustration, seeing dozens of milling students, but no professors. "We should tell them to go to their common rooms, or maybe let them into the Slytherin common rooms…"

"Harry," Draco hissed, pushing Harry close to the dungeon wall. Crabbe and Goyle watched curiously, but neither made a move to come closer. "Harry, don't be an idiot. Do you want everyone to know you're here?"

A scream resounded from some distant corridor, bouncing off the stone walls. The students went still, first and second years latching desperately onto the older ones. Draco went wide-eyed, his fingers digging into Harry's arms.

"I can't just do nothing," Harry said quietly, feeling increasingly helpless. His scar gave a painful twinge, and he was vaguely aware of Voldemort laughing at him.

_Do you want me to kill all of them, Harry? I don't want to - I have no interest in killing schoolchildren, you know - but I will if you make me. I want you to come to me, Harry, that's all. Just come to me, and nobody has to die._

Harry gritted his teeth, using every ounce of his knowledge of Occlumency to silence Voldemort's voice in his head.

_I already have your Weasley and the Mudblood girl, Harry. I'll be killing them next, but you can stop me if you'd like. Of course, I'll be sure to let them know before I kill them whose fault it is, how you could have saved them if you'd only granted my simple request… And I have something special planned for your Malfoy, Harry…I've always found this particular spell amusing - you see, it allows a person to stay alive and conscious through any type of torture, short of decapitation, anyway. Like I said, it's very amusing…_

Focusing with all his strength, Harry concentrated on closing his link with Voldemort, picturing his Occlumency snake and willing it to coil once more around the link.

Opening his eyes a moment later, Harry was at once aware that he was crouched against the wall, and of Draco wiping blood off his forehead. Crabbe and Goyle were encircling them as if standing guard, looking intimidating as ever.

Draco gave an audible sigh of relief upon meeting Harry's eyes, and rested his forehead briefly to Harry's shoulder, muttering something unintelligible.

"He says he has Ron and Hermione," Harry managed to choke, drawing in a shaky breath.

Draco tensed, his face paling and his grey eyes going wide. "Is he telling the truth?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think so. But…he said he's going to keep killing people - killing kids - until I go to him."

Draco's fingers clamped around Harry's wrists in a vice-like grip. "You're not going to him."

Harry shook his head again, feeling a slight prick as tears of frustration pooled behind his eyelids. "I can't," he said angrily. "We have to destroy all the Horcruxes first. Otherwise he can't be killed." He closed his eyes, trying in vain to push away the various images that surfaced - of Hermione and Ron, dead, of crumpled bodies of first years strewn across the Quidditch pitch like garbage, of Draco…

Harry opened his eyes, mentally shaking himself, yet unable to contain the vicious onslaught of images of his own making. Maybe…maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to at least _act_ like he intended to meet Voldemort, if only to prevent such horrors from becoming reality.

"Come on," Draco said, pulling Harry to his feet. "We need to get rid of…" he glanced furtively at Crabbe and Goyle, pursing his lips. "Well, you know what we need to do. The longer we stay here, the more damage he can do."

Harry nodded, allowing himself to be pulled along by Draco as once more Crabbe and Goyle bulldozed through the increasing crowd of students. He willed himself to not look at them, lest he see familiar faces, yet it was impossible to not hear snippets of conversation.

"…said it's the safest down here, something about the wards. Hope she's right."

"…has anyone seen my sister, Marla? She's in Ravenclaw, only a first year…"

Harry swallowed and forced himself to keep moving, feeling increasingly guilty with every person they passed. This was all his fault - if he wasn't in Hogwarts, Voldemort wouldn't be attacking it, siblings wouldn't be separated, perhaps forever. It was one thing to risk his own life, or even Draco's, as they had both chosen to take such a risk. But to risk the lives of the hundreds of children in Hogwarts was unacceptable and self-centered on his part. How could he claim to be different from Voldemort, when it came right down to it?

It became clear that the students were moving as deep into the dungeons as possible, and as they neared the staircase, the halls were starkly empty. Harry felt the slight zinging of wards pass over them midway up the stairs, and breathed a sigh of immense relief that at least the students in the dungeons were safe.

He felt Draco grip his wrist, and he looked at him questioningly. Draco met his gaze solemnly.

"Harry, please tell me you're not thinking of going to him."

Harry averted his eyes from Draco's, concentrating instead on the corridor in front of them. "Of course not."

Draco gripped his wrist harder. "Look at me and tell me that." Draco's voice had a slightly desperate undertone to it, and Harry forced himself to meet his gaze, startled by the raw vulnerability there.

Harry grabbed his hand and squeezed, then released it with a sigh. "I wish I could."

"Harry…"

There was a sudden flash of red light from somewhere up ahead, and all four of them darted back against the wall. His heart beating madly against his chest, Harry pulled out his wand. He would let them have him, if it came to it, let them take him to Voldemort. Because Crabbe and Goyle certainly didn't deserve to die just for helping him, and Draco…he would do anything for Draco.

There was another flash of red, followed by a flash of green. Footsteps, headed away from them, then silence. Nonetheless, they waited several seconds before moving again, continuing once more for the Room of Requirement. Harry forced himself to look away from the body as they walked past - it was face down, wearing regular robes, and he honestly didn't have the inclination to find out whether it was a Death Eater or an Order member.

"Harry," Draco said hoarsely after a moment. Another scream echoed distantly, ricocheting quietly on the walls around them. "Harry, there's more to you than what you can do for other people, you know. Your worth doesn't change because of how many people you can save, or if you defeat Voldemort…not to me, anyway. I love you…I'd still love you if you decided to just walk away…which I know you won't. And I love you for it, I really do. But Harry…" he gripped Harry's hand, but continued to walk steadily, not looking at Harry. Glancing at him, Harry was surprised to see that his eyes were slightly red. Had he been crying?

"I know it's selfish, but you don't understand what losing you would do to me. And maybe it's not fair for me to say it, but there it is. So please, please, Harry, don't do it. Don't leave me to go off on some suicide mission…don't…" he trailed off, nodding at something. Somehow they had ended up in front of the Room of Requirement. The door stared back silently.

"Draco…"

"Just don't," Draco concluded softly. "It doesn't matter what you say, Harry. Just don't do it, okay?" He pulled away from Harry, nodding at Crabbe and Goyle, who had been keeping a good distance between Draco and Harry.

"Okay, you two," Draco said in a slightly bossy tone as the larger boys lumbered over to them. "I want you to stand guard for us…like last year, yes, Vince…but there's something else I want you to do. If you're attacked, I want you both to run, okay? No playing heroes, no Gryffindor antics…" Crabbe and Goyle both chuckled, then looked sheepishly in Harry's direction. Harry shrugged.

"I'm serious. I'm not fucking around. If you're attacked, get the hell out of here."

"Alright, alright…" Crabbe muttered, frowning. Goyle nodded.

Draco glanced back. "Ready?" he asked.

With a vaguely queasy feeling in his gut, Harry nodded. Draco grasped the doorknob firmly and pulled. Before them lay the lengthy, warehouse of a room Harry had once hidden his Potions book in, and the room Draco had spent the majority of last year living, and hoping not to die, in.

Draco shut the door with a soft click. "It's strange being back here," he said, gazing out across the room.

For a moment, Harry remembered dashing through these dusty, cobwebbed corridors, covered in water and blood, thinking only of what Snape would do if he ever found his textbook… Funny that now, finding that book again was the thing that would lead them to their goal. Harry nodded. "Yeah. Very strange."

"I think he went this way," Draco mused. He crossed his arms and took a few steps forward. "What looks familiar?"

Frowning with concentration, Harry looked around, searching for some marker to tell them where to go. "I think I ran straight," he said slowly. "And then… I think I just stopped and, well, that's where the Diadem was."

"You know, I don't hate this place as much as I thought I would," Draco said a few minutes later, as they slowly made their way through the room. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Brings back good memories, does it?" he asked wryly.

Draco snorted. "Haha. Not exactly. But it was the only place - " he paused, then sighed. "When I was in here, I was trying to find a way to save my parents. I was doing something. When I wasn't…"

Harry pictured Draco's face as it had been in sixth year: drawn, worried, pale, and as Harry knew now, thinking only of his family.

"I know," Harry said. "I - "

"That's it!" Draco interrupted, running forward. He grinned. "Now," - he handed over the tarnished crown Harry had seen in person only once before - "let's shrink this, find Granger and Weasley, and get the fuck out of here."

Harry nodded. He cast a quick shrinking charm, watching as the Ravenclaw artifact shrunk to the size of a fist. He bit his lip. "What if Vol - You-Know-Who really has them? They've got the sword…"

"Doesn't matter," Draco said gruffly, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him forward. "We're all getting out of this, one way or the other. Now come on."

Feeling slightly bemused by Draco's optimism, Harry allowed himself to be pulled along, but only until they came to the door.

"Wait," Harry started. Draco began to turn the handle. "Wait!"

Draco dropped his hand, looking startled. "What is it?"

Harry's stomach did several flip-flops, his legs and arms felt vaguely like jelly. "Before we finish this, I want… I wanted you to know… Shit…"

"Harry," Draco murmured, lifting a hand to Harry's face. "I know. It's alright."

"You," Harry blinked, "you know?"

Before he had time to react, Draco leaned in and gently pressed his lips to Harry's, his hand stroking through his hair as they kissed. "Of course I do, Potter," he said affectionately after pulling back. He tugged lightly with his hand. "I'm not an idiot."

Harry swallowed. "No, you're not."

Just then, a rumbling bang and several screams echoed loudly through the walls. Draco solemnly met Harry's eyes. "Come on," he whispered.

Hating that he had no choice, Harry followed him out of their temporary sanctuary - and into the war zone that was once a Hogwarts hallway.

"Oh my god…" Harry gasped. Piles of stone, torn loose from the walls and ceiling, littered the floors. Two students, fourth or fifth years at the most, lay huddled several feet away. One was crying. The other wasn't moving at all. Sick to his stomach, Harry took a step toward them.

"Harry!" Draco hissed, dragging him backwards. "Stop it! You don't have time to help everyone!

Harry shrugged himself loose. "I know that, alright?" He scowled. "I can at least see if they're alright."

"No," Draco said. "They're probably not. But a lot more people aren't going to be alright if we don't hurry up." He glanced around. "I guess Crabbe and Goyle listened."

Or they were buried under piles of rubble somewhere. Harry shook his head. "Maybe we should split up."

Draco's eyes widened, then narrowed a bit. "Fifteen minutes," he said. "If you're not back here in fifteen minutes I'll kick your ass."

"Same goes for you," Harry called over his shoulder as they both ran in opposite directions.

As Harry made his way through the ruined hallway, the sick feeling in his gut coiled tighter and tighter. Twice he caught a glimpse of a human hand poking out from under the shattered stones, and twice he had to fight the urge to vomit. This was his fault, no matter what anyone else said, although he desperately wished Draco were there to chide him about believing the world revolved around him. Harry swallowed nervously at the thought of Draco and hoped that he was alright, wherever he was.

And where were Ron and Hermione? A horrible thought suddenly struck Harry, nearly causing him to trip over a brick. What if they were buried in the rubble somewhere? What if-

"Harry!" Hermione nearly knocked him over in her enthusiasm, clinging to him fiercely and breathing raggedly. "Oh, Harry…"

"Are we ever glad to see you, mate," Ron said cheerfully, yet his voice betrayed an underlying tension. He patted Harry's arm, smiling grimly.

Hermione pulled away, frowning slightly. It was then that Harry saw that some of her hair was singed, and she touched it self-consciously upon seeing his expression. "Had to dodge the Carrows," she said quickly, shaking her head as if to ward off any further explanation. "Where's Draco?"

"We split up," Harry said, motioning for Ron and Hermione to follow him as he began walking back in the direction he had came. Digging into his robe pocket, he pulled out the shrunken Diadem and held it out for his friends to see. "We found this, though."

It was testimony to the direness of their situation that his announcement wasn't met with shrieks and proclamations of joy, but with purse-lipped nods.

"We need to find Draco and get out of here," Hermione said quietly after a moment, looking at their surroundings dully.

"Get out of here?"

"Well, yes. That was the plan, wasn't it? Harry, we don't know what the last Horcrux is…"

"Doesn't matter. We can destroy this one, can't we? And we're pretty sure about Nagini…"

"That still leaves one, Harry." She stopped, and Harry realized with a slight start that they were outside of the Room of Requirement once more.

"Draco and I will do the linking spell again…find out what the last one is…I'm not just leaving, Hermione. You, Ron, and Draco should, but I can't. This has always been between me and _him_, but now he's at Hogwarts, hurting people…because of me."

"It's not because of you, Harry," Ron said quietly. "It's because You-Know-Who is a sick freak of nature, and you know it. And…" he took a determined breath. "I'm not leaving either. I mean, we fought off the Death Eaters once before, and we were younger then! This time it should be nothing." He smiled, and Harry smiled back gratefully.

"And besides," Ron continued. "The Order is already here and everything, so I bet those cowards will be leaving soon…which means we need to hurry if we're going to destroy the Diadem _and _have a shot at Nagini."

"Is Draco meeting you back here?" Hermione asked, looking thoughtful. When Harry nodded to the affirmative, she turned to Ron. "Come on then, let's go destroy this thing. Harry, wait out here for Draco…and don't do anything rash, please."

Harry nodded, resting against a wall after the door had closed behind them. Checking his wand, he realized with a start that Draco should have been there two minutes ago. But it was only two minutes, and so Harry leaned back against the wall and attempted to remain calm, silently urging Draco to hurry up.

Several minutes passed, and Harry felt himself growing more anxious by the minute. Not only because of Draco's continued absence, but also because Ron and Hermione were still in the Room of Requirement, and for all he knew they were in trouble, maybe even hurt from attempting to destroy a Horcrux. Unsure of what to do, Harry had very nearly made up his mind to simply look in, when a sudden stab of pain in his scar caused him to drop to his knees.

"_Did you think you could continue to defy me like this, young Malfoy?" Voldemort hissed silkily. "Don't you know that the Mark you have on your arm means you'll always belong to me?"_

_Right there in front of Voldemort was Draco, white-faced and shaking, yet meeting Voldemort's gaze boldly. _

For once, Harry fought desperately to stay in Voldemort's mind, yet found himself pushed outward without ceremony. Finding it difficult to breathe, Harry pulled himself to his feet, realizing belatedly that Ron and Hermione were huddled on either side.

"Draco," Harry said, his mouth as dry as sandpaper. "He has Draco."

_Twenty-five minutes earlier…_

Draco's right hand shook with tension as he gripped his wand tightly. Making his way quickly through the corridors, he scanned incessantly for a glimpse of bright red hair, though hoping not to catch that glimpse under a pile of rubble, or other such state of disarray.

"Get out of the halls!" someone up ahead yelled. Draco ducked his head as he realized Professor McGonagall was barreling straight for him. Around her flocked a variety of students, some looking rather worse for the wear, and all with identical expressions of terror on their faces.

"To your dorms! Go now!" she bellowed, brushing by Draco.

She and the students were barely around the corner when, from somewhere close behind, a blood-curdling scream echoed off the walls. It was followed closely by a high-pitched, cackling laugh that made Draco's heart beat even more rapidly in his chest. He knew that laugh.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, flattening himself into a doorway.

"Ickle children made of mud, soon you will have no more blood!" she chanted in a sing-song voice. She laughed again, and Draco could tell she was only seconds away.

Breathing shallowly through his mouth, Draco fumbled behind him for the doorknob and, finding it unlocked, slipped quietly into the room and shut the door behind him.

"Come out, come out," Bellatrix called, right outside now. "I only want to play a little."

Draco closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the door. All she needed to do was just keep walking… Suddenly, there was a slight tapping on the other side of the door and when Bellatrix talked, Draco imagined her head was leaned right up against his.

"I can smell you, you know," she purred, dragging her nails over the wood. "Let's play a game, shall we? Come out now, and I'll make it quick."

As carefully as he could, Draco took a step backwards, afraid that even the slightest noise would alert her of his presence.

Bellatrix kept talking. "Five seconds, little ones. If you don't come out in five seconds, I'll cut out your eyes and feed your flesh to the Dark Lord's snake. Five…"

Draco looked frantically around the empty classroom.

"…four…"

The cupboard! If it was big enough to keep a boggart in…

"…three…"

Stepping delicately across the stone floor, Draco reached for the handle of the cupboard.

"…two…"

He pulled open the door, wondering if his aunt really could smell people, but hoping she couldn't. It was then the cupboard hinges emitted a loud screech.

The classroom door exploded in a deafening roar of splintered wood and gusting wind, and Draco cried out in surprise as he was knocked roughly off his feet. He collided heavily with an overturned desk, thumping his head into one of the legs. His vision darkened momentarily.

"Oh, this is too good!" Bellatrix cackled loudly from across the room. Draco grunted as she lifted her wand and he slid unceremoniously across the floor, and several feet closer to her. Before he could react, she was holding both their wands in her hands.

"If it isn't my favorite nephew, baby Draco." Bellatrix crossed her arms, a maniacal grin lighting her face.

Draco grunted, pulling himself to a sitting position. "I'm your only nephew, Aunt Bella," he replied snidely.

Bellatrix laughed. "Haven't you heard? I'm about to have a new nephew. Your dear cousin has been shacking up with a filthy werewolf. Not that you're much higher on my scale than that, right now."

"On my scale," Draco retorted with narrowed eyes, aware he was only digging himself a deeper hole, but unable to stop himself, "even that filthy werewolf is higher up than you, _Auntie_."

Draco screamed and collapsed to the floor as each nerve ending in his body fired simultaneously. He was dimly aware of Bellatrix screaming at him through the pain, but he couldn't make out her words through his own choked cries until, abruptly, the curse ended. With a moan, Draco uncurled himself and glared up at his aunt.

"Do you know what the Dark Lord is going to do to you?" She kneeled down beside him, resting the tip of her wand on his temple. "Do you have any idea?"

Draco swallowed, aware of his pulse beating alarmingly fast against her wand.

"Too bad he'll be rotting in the fucking dirt before he even finds me," Draco whispered back fiercely.

"How dare you speak of him like that!" Bellatrix screamed, pressing her wand down harder. "_Cruc _- "

Having been in so many near-death situations in the last several months, what was more alarming than his impending demise was how Bellatrix suddenly flew across the room, seemingly of her own accord, and landed in a tangled heap several feet away.

"What…?" He sat up with some difficulty and stared.

"Draco?"

Draco choked back a sob as his mother, alive and unharmed, walked slowly to his side and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?" she asked, gazing down on him with misty eyes.

Draco nodded slowly and stood up. "I thought you would be dead," he spoke in a shaky voice.

Narcissa smiled gently. "I could say the same for you," she said, pressing his wand into his hand.

He blinked back tears as she hugged him quickly, pulling away far too soon to glance worriedly at Bellatrix, who had begun to stir fretfully in her sleep.

"We haven't much time, Draco," Narcissa said softly, her expression sobering. She cupped his face gently, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "Where's Potter?"

"We got separated," he said hoarsely. "We're to meet back at…the place we separated in awhile."

She nodded, the hand smoothing back his hair stilling. "Tell Potter 'thank you' for me, darling? He'll know what I'm talking about. And as a further expression of my gratitude, tell him this: the Dark Lord's snake is indeed a Horcrux, and is currently in the Shrieking Shack. And yes, before you ask, I know more about the affairs of the Dark Lord than even my dear sister could hope to know. Lucius told me everything and more, and always has. But you see, by playing the part of a vapid society wife I've always remained below the radar - of the Ministry and the Dark Lord alike." She leaned forward to kiss Draco's brow, smiling at him gently. "I'd always thought it best that you believe the same thing, Draco, for your own good."

Draco just stared at his mother's beautiful face, wondering how she could have fooled him for so many years. But then again, she had been in Slytherin for a reason.

"Mother…"

She shook her head, nodding in Bellatrix's direction. Bellatrix was moaning softly, trying in vain to pull herself upright. "I'll take care of dearest Bella, not to worry. Go find Potter right away - the Dark Lord may not keep Nagini there for long."

Draco nodded, feeling a slight shiver travel down his spine when he heard Bellatrix begin to cackle softly.

"He's going to kill you, Cissy Wissy," Bellatrix said softly in a sing-song voice. "You and wittle baby Dwaco. And Potter the plotter, and…"

"Oh, do shut it, Bella," Narcissa said exasperatedly, training her wand steadily on her sister. "You're absolutely mad." She turned briefly to Draco, who was hovering in the doorway, unsure if he should leave his mother alone with a dangerous lunatic. Narcissa gave him an encouraging smile, as if sensing his hesitation.

"Go, sweetheart. I can handle my own sister. You and I will be together again soon, I know it."

"Okay," Draco said softly, blinking rapidly to stave off any tears. "Mother, I -"

"Now, Draco," Narcissa said firmly, a slight warning tone to her voice. And he saw why - Bellatrix had pulled herself upright, her own wand pointed at Narcissa. Bellatrix cackled softly, making small tsking noises with her teeth.

"Draco -"

"Okay!" Draco rushed out of the room and slammed the door behind him, his breaths coming out raggedly. He had to find Harry, and quickly…

But wait. His mother had said that Nagini might not be in the Shrieking Shack for long, in which case…

He needed to do it himself. Because by the time he found Harry and explained everything to him, it might be too late. And besides, the last thing he needed was for Harry, with his insane ideas of self-sacrifice and various martyr complexes, to decide on playing the hero. And Draco was as capable as Harry, in this case. More so even, as he'd used the Killing Curse before…and how hard could it be to kill a snake?

Making up his mind with a shaky breath, Draco began running as quickly as possible through the ruined halls of Hogwarts, and onward towards the Shrieking Shack.

*

Draco was glad that Harry had told him about his various forays into the Shrieking Shack, otherwise he would have never known to climb under the Whomping Willow's branches, which were no longer moving for some reason, and after moving his hands over the tree's trunk for several moments, find and press a knob…

He nearly cried out in surprise as he lurched forward, landing in a heap in a dusty, dark room. Gulping as the reality of his situation began creeping in, Draco took a moment to catch his breath before quietly pulling himself to his feet.

"_Lumos_," he whispered, his heart pounding in his ears. Maybe he should have told Harry - Harry was brave, after all, and Draco…

Draco shook himself mentally. He could do this - he _needed _to do this, if only to prove to himself that he could at least _act _like he was brave, even if his heart was thudding and his breaths were coming out in short gasps, and his palms were so sweaty that he had to grip his wand extra tight in order to not drop it.

He'd always been terrified of that stupid snake.

Just the slightest trace of a hiss came from somewhere behind him, and Draco whirled around, wand ready, if shaking slightly. There was nothing there, and so Draco took a tentative step backwards, followed quickly by another. His heel nudged something soft, and he nearly screamed aloud upon realizing that he'd nearly tripped over a half-eaten body.

The smallest whimper escaped his lips before he could help himself, and he quickly sunk his teeth sharply into his bottom lip to silence himself. Draco knew that if he really let himself think about where he was - in a dark room with a killer snake and at least one dead body - he would go as mad as his Aunt Bella. So instead he thought about how glad he had been to see his mother, about Ron and Hermione and their petty bickering, and about the way it felt to kiss Harry. He wondered what his mother would think about the latest development in the Potter/Malfoy saga, and if the three of them could ever just sit down for tea like normal people. Sure, he thought, as rivulets of sweat poured down his back despite the frigidity of the air, and as an unmistakable hissing crept ever closer. He nearly laughed at the absurdity of it, that in spite of possible impending death, he was contemplating tea.

The hissing grew louder still, coupled with a heavy dragging sound. Nagini was getting closer, yet in spite of his lit wand he could only see a couple of feet in front of him. And really, the thought of the snake getting that close to him was rather unappealing. Closing his eyes, he decided to take a chance.

"_Sectumsempra!_" he yelled, pointing his wand towards the hissing. There was a sickening wet noise that followed, and then silence. Breathing heavily, Draco crept cautiously towards the still form of Nagini - forms, he noted dully upon reaching her, as she was sliced cleanly in half.

Prodding her upper half with his toe, he jumped back in shock when her fanged jaw opened and closed several times. It may have simply been nerves, but Draco didn't want to take any chances.

"_Avada Kedavra_," he said quietly, the words to the Killing Curse leaving his mouth for the second time in his life. And as with the last time, it left him slightly sickened when the snake lay completely still.

Draco stared at the Nagini's corpse for several moments, then shaking himself, began crawling out the way he'd entered the room. He needed to find Harry, find him and tell him that only one Horcrux remained.

But if Draco had been scared before, it was nothing compared to the sudden panic that gripped him upon pulling himself out of the tunnel. Voldemort's red eyes bore into him, an enigmatic smile on his nose-less face.

"Hello, Draco," he hissed.

**Read it? Liked it? Or not…well, in any case, please review!**


	29. Chapter 29

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! And sorry that it took so long to get this chapter up…life has been hectic lately. But here it is at last, so enjoy!

*

Harry gasped for air as he ran, panic nearly overwhelming him. But he kept going, pumping his legs for all he was worth, ignoring the steadily growing pain in his side. He was vaguely aware that at some point he'd lost Ron and Hermione in the crowd, even as they'd tried desperately to follow, but he hadn't stopped. He couldn't.

_Don't let him be dead, don't let him be dead… _The chant in Harry's head was nearly in sync with his labored breathing now. He rounded a corner, nearly running into someone.

"Potter!" the person yelled.

Harry didn't know who had called him. He sprinted through a doorway without looking.

Draco couldn't die. Voldemort couldn't win, not after everything he'd been through - everything they'd been through. Harry's limbs felt like jello and his head pounded with his thoughts. Surely fate couldn't be so cruel. Over six years of acquaintance, of being in a comfortable environment where relationships of all types flourished, and they'd spent the entire time loathing one another. Could it really be over now, after only a few short months? Or had it even been that long?

_I love you, Draco… Please hold on…_

Harry dashed frantically forward, catching sight of the main entrance up ahead. As he ran, he didn't notice the cloaked figure following close behind.

*

"Do you know how much your mother has suffered on your behalf?" Voldemort spoke softly. He twirled his wand in a complicated figure. "It really is a pity I had to kill Lucius so quickly. I would've liked you to watch Nagini eat him and your dear mother." He twirled his wand again.

Suspended bonelessly in midair, Draco fought not to throw up. His stomach lurched painfully as his world turned upside down once again, bringing him nearly eye-level with Voldemort's oddly calm face. Had he been able to move, he would've flinched as a cold hand trailed down his cheek.

"You, on the other hand," Voldemort hissed, taking a fistful of Draco's hair, "are going to live a long time. I may not even torture you. After all, the pain of knowing you caused your lover's death will be greater than anything I'm capable of. Wouldn't you agree?"

Draco's vision blurred slightly. His head had begun to pound from all the blood rushing to it. "What are you talking about?" he whispered.

Voldemort laughed and yanked Draco's head sideways. "What better incentive, young Malfoy, to bring Harry to me? He knows you're here. I showed him. Even as we speak, he is scurrying to me. Scurrying to his death."

Draco sneered. "How many times has Harry beaten you now? I wouldn't be quite so cocky."

Mouth twisting in anger, Voldemort flicked his wand and Draco toppled to the ground. His shoulders took the majority of the impact, but he lay gasping for breath several seconds before he was able to move. When he did, he realized his wand was lying on the ground beside him.

"What…" Draco swallowed, glancing up at Voldemort. "What are you doing?"

"How many times, you ask, has Harry beaten me?" Voldemort said, a quiet note of fury in his voice. "The real question is, how many times has Harry, and Harry alone, beaten me? When has he ever faced me without aid? Answer me that."

Still unsure what he was up to, Draco palmed his wand and stood slowly, not taking his eyes off the Dark Lord before him.

*

Harry could see them. Voldemort was standing very still, Draco was straightening and backing up a few steps. He couldn't make out what they were saying. Only several feet more, Harry thought, and he'd be able to cast something, anything. Just a few feet more…

Something large, invisible, and very solid collided with Harry, knocking him backward and leaving him sprawled on the ground, stunned and slightly dazed.

"Potter!"

Harry threw a look over his shoulder. He blanched. Striding purposefully toward him, wand extended, was Snape. Shaking with rage, suspecting it was Snape who'd slowed him down, Harry scrambled to his feet and turned to run. In the distance, he could see that Draco had raised his wand.

Once again, Harry met an invisible barrier, but he didn't allow himself to be knocked off-balance this time.

"_Reducto_!" he yelled, His spell bounced uselessly to the grass.

"It's useless, Potter!" Snape said mockingly. "Nothing _you _are capable of will break my ward."

All the anger, the infinite rage Harry held for his former Potions professor, exploded to the surface. He whirled around, seeing red.

"You fucking bastard!" Harry screamed. He sent a wordless slew of spells and curses flying at Snape. "Let me through!"

Snape deflected his enraged attempts, though not easily. "Stop it, Potter!" he spat, his black eyes glittering angrily. "You can't go to him. Not yet."

"No!" Harry yelled, pounding a fist into the wall. "He's going to fucking kill him! _Sectumsempra_!"

"Ah!" Snape cried out as the slashing curse caught him across his left leg, splattering blood into the darkness. He crumpled to the ground, wand still raised.

"You think killing me will save him, Potter?" Snape seethed, his features contorted in pain. "You think it will save you?"

Harry barely registered Snape's words. So close, yet so far away, he could hear Draco scream, could see him writhing on the ground in agony as Voldemort, looking almost bored, brandished his wand again and again.

"Draco! _Draco_!" Harry screamed in frustration, pounding his fists over and over against the wall, barely noticing or caring when his knuckles split and bled.

"Control yourself, Potter!" he heard Snape spit angrily. Harry whirled around, his vision white with rage. Snape had apparently healed his leg, and though paler than ever, was standing shakily on his feet, glaring down from over his hooked nose at Harry.

"I'm warning you, Snape, let me through!"

Snape narrowed his eyes. "I'm warning _you_, you insufferable brat, to cease being James Potter's son for once in your life-"

"_Crucio_!" Harry screamed, feeling his hatred for Snape coursing through his body and flowing down from his fingertips. Once upon a time he would have felt disgusted with himself for immediately resorting to using such a spell, even on Snape. But Draco was in trouble, and Snape was the only thing preventing Harry from going to him…

Snape deflected the spell, but stumbled backwards slightly, breathing heavily. Nonetheless, he managed to sneer at Harry from behind his stringy hair. "Blocked again and again, Potter, what have I told you?"

"_Expel-"_

"_Petrificus Totalis_!"

The spell caught Harry mid-syllable, knocking him stiffly onto his back before his mind had even registered what Snape had said. Then he felt himself being levitated above the ground, moved against his will back towards the castle - further and further away from Voldemort, from Draco.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating with all his might on breaking Snape's spell, but it was useless. And he needed to break it, _had _to break it, because Voldemort would kill Draco if Harry didn't stop him. Harry willed his body to stop midair, feeling frustration welling in his chest, despair clutching at his throat.

After what seemed an eternity of floating, Harry felt himself lowered down upon a stone floor, and upon opening his eyes he was able to ascertain that he was in a classroom.

Snape was standing over him, an inscrutable expression on his face. Harry met his eyes defiantly, hoping his own eyes conveyed the full extent of his hatred.

"Potter," Snape spat, his lips curling in disgust. "I know it's too much to ask of you, but for once you're going to listen, without interruption, to what I have to say. And if you're half of what Dumbledore thought you were, maybe my words will even penetrate that incredibly thick skull of yours…"

_Don't you dare talk about him!_ Harry wanted to scream. Snape was still speaking, but Harry could no longer hear him over the steady pounding in his ears. Snape, it all came down to Snape, it always had. Snape, who had hated Harry from the beginning, for no reason at all, who had lied at every turn, contributed to Sirius's death, killed Dumbledore, and now was keeping Harry prisoner, helpless to save the person he loved…

"…putting my memories into a Pensieve, as they can explain far more than I ever could…"

Harry barely heard him, feeling his fists clench at his sides. Then came the realization: _he could move again_, and before he could think better of it, he was clutching his wand, pointing it at a startled Snape.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ Harry shouted. Snape's wand flew out of his hand with such force that it struck a far wall, and Harry noted with some detachment that they were in Snape's office, the site of their unsuccessful Occlumency lessons from fifth year.

Snape paled noticeably, but he still managed a trademark sneer. "Potter, you idiot, you have no idea what you're jeopardizing…"

"_Shut up_! _Protego_!" Snape flew backwards, colliding into a bookshelf and spilling books onto himself.

"Potter…"

"_Crucio_!"

Snape cried out, contorting in pain, and Harry was glad, glad that he was finally getting what he deserved…

But then, when the roaring in Harry's head had cleared, when he realized that Snape was no longer crying out or even moving, something moved back into place for Harry, and he dropped his wand in horror. Snape was very still, his breathing shallow and pained, slumped awkwardly against the bookshelf.

"Oh, god," Harry whispered. He tentatively moved toward Snape, his hands shaking as he cleared away the books piled on him.

"Professor?" Harry choked, feeling as though the room was closing around him. He really was as bad as Voldemort now, there was simply no denying it. He knew that Draco liked to believe that Harry was somehow more moral than he was, yet knew that when it came down to it, Draco would never be capable of inflicting pain the way Harry was. And liking it.

"Professor Snape?"

"Potter," came the choked whisper. Harry leaned closer to hear him. "…you utter fool."

Harry swallowed, nodding. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "Whatever you've done…it's…I'm supposed to be better than this."

"Spare me your moral woes," Snape said raspily, somehow managing to interject disdain even in his weak state. "If you're truly remorseful, you'll listen to what I have to say this time." He pointed at the Penseive on his desk, his hand trembling uncontrollably. "Help me up, Potter."

"Why don't I just bring it to you-"

"Do as I say," he snapped, sounding slightly more like his old self.

Reluctantly, Harry bent down, allowing Snape to grip onto his shoulders and pull himself upright. Shrugging off Harry's attempts to assist him any further, Snape walked shakily over to his desk, gripping the sides and swaying for a moment. Breathing harshly, he stared down at his hands, continuing to sway.

"Do you need help?" Harry asked in a small voice.

Snape opened his eyes, shooting Harry a cold look of contempt. "No," he said shortly.

"Are you sure? I could-"

"Give me my wand, Potter," he demanded curtly.

Harry nodded, scrambling hurriedly across the room to grab Snape's wand, putting it in his hand a moment later.

Snape snatched the wand from his hand, not even acknowledging Harry's presence, then immediately put the wand to his greasy temple. A silvery strand followed a moment later, trailing wispily out the end of his wand. Snape quickly placed the memory into the Pensieve, and proceeded to repeat the process several times.

Finally, Snape put his wand down, all but stumbling backwards. Harry pulled a chair out for him which Snape ignored, choosing instead to walk to the opposite side of the room and conjure a chair for himself.

"Now, Potter," Snape said, his face paler than ever, his black eyes glittering strangely. He nodded towards the Pensieve. "Watch them now."

*

It was with an oddly detached air that Draco considered how dire his situation was. Voldemort's spells and curses had ceased for several minutes now - at least it seemed that long - and taking advantage of the small reprieve, Draco slowly took note of his condition.

Sluggishly, his eyes traveled to his left arm, or rather, to the mutilated remains of it. Draco felt the urge to laugh. After all he and the others had done to prevent Voldemort from using the Dark Mark, in the end it had been Voldemort who had removed it completely. His fingers twitched slightly, but not because Draco had meant to move them. He wondered if he'd ever be able to use that arm again.

"Are you listening to me, Draco?" a voice, distant and cold, said to him.

Draco blinked and tried taking a deep breath. Sharp slivers of ice shot through his chest and he coughed. A deep gurgling sound accompanied the action.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you!" Voldemort hissed from above. Draco narrowed his eyes, focusing the best he could on the white face peering down at him.

"I've… noticed," Draco whispered haltingly, "that… Harry still isn't… here."

Voldemort chuckled. "I do believe this information is more harmful to you, than I, my young friend. After all, you are the one he supposedly loves. And yet, as you say, he still isn't here."

As generally unresponsive as Draco's mind was at the moment, Voldemort's words bit into him harshly and he flinched.

"No…" Draco slowly shook his head back and forth. "Still going to kill you… though."

"Kill me?" Voldemort knelt to one knee and cupped the side of Draco's face in his hand. Draco shivered. "Haven't you heard?" he spoke softly. "I can't die."

A wave of dizziness and nausea swept over Draco and he jerked weakly against Voldemort's frigid fingers.

"Draco, Draco," Voldemort crooned, tightening his hand slightly. "How incredibly weak you are. How sickening to know your body will simple die and decay, making food for the worms, refuse for the weeds. How does that make you feel? Does it -"

Draco cried out as Voldemort, moving quickly, stood, one of his feet colliding with Draco's damaged ribs. Dazed, his entire being pounding with pain, he watched as Voldemort began furiously firing curses at the intruders. Flashes of red and green, of white and yellow, crackled brightly in the night sky. At one point, Draco imagined he saw pink in there as well, but he wasn't sure.

"We'll hold him off!" someone yelled. "You get the boy!"

Draco cringed, imagining one of the young Hogwarts students, perhaps the Slytherin boy from earlier, had somehow gotten caught in the crossfire. It was only when a large silhouette bent over him, suddenly blocking the night sky, he realized they'd been talking about him.

"Hang on," the newcomer spoke in a rather familiar voice. Not realizing there was an alternative to this idea, Draco nodded slightly and closed his eyes as his body was levitated away.

As he was moved, Draco fought valiantly to stay awake - but quite suddenly finding himself lying stretched out on a stone floor, he realized he had not succeeded.

"Try not to move just yet."

Swallowing thickly, Draco glanced to his side and groaned softly. "Not you again…"

Lupin raised his shaggy eyebrows without looking up. "Yes, me again." Lupin's voice was wry but gentle as he swept his wand back and forth, pausing often to cast a healing spell. After he finished, working on Draco's arm last, he sat back on his heels and let out a breath.

"You're in a safe room right now," Lupin said. "Stay here until someone else arrives for you."

Draco snorted and sat up slightly. Though considerably better than before, the weakness and bone-deep ache of his residual injuries was enough to keep him still for several seconds.

"Malfoy," Lupin put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "You can't possibly fight. You should - what are you doing?"

Struggling to control his shaking limbs, Draco shrugged out of Lupin's grasp and stood.

"I'm fine," Draco said stiffly, taking a wobbly step backwards. "Where's my wand?"

Frowning, Lupin handed Draco's wand to him. "You had it in your hand when I found you. And you're not fine."

Blinking rapidly, Draco sought out the door and began moving toward it.

"Mal - Draco," Lupin called, following close behind. "Please, stay here. You've done more than enough. I'll look for Harry. Please, just stay here."

His hand on the door, Draco paused and looked back at Lupin.

"How touching," he sneered, though his voice sounded weak to his own ears. "First you tell me to let myself die, and now you're my personal savior." He wrenched the door open. "How fucking sweet."

Lupin closed his eyes, looking as though he was in pain. "Draco," he said in a tremulous whisper before opening his eyes and fixing them on Draco. Draco could hardly bring himself to look at him.

"I've wondered what I would say to you if I saw you again."

Draco shook his head, looking at the floor. He didn't have time for this, not when Harry was somewhere out there, needing him. "You don't have to say anything, actually. I get it."

"I never wanted to make anyone feel that they were dispensable," Lupin continued softly, a faraway look on his face. "Because that was always me, you know. Back at school. James and Sirius, they always had each other, and poor Peter just wanted to be like them. Me…I had to hang back, be the sensible one, make sure the others stayed out of trouble. It was my purpose…without it, I was nothing to them. I thought."

Draco managed a halfhearted sneer. "Much as I'd love to stick around and listen to your personal woes, _Professor_, I'd hate to be here when you start choking up hairballs, or howling at the moon…it would be uncomfortable for us both, I think." Draco's voice sounded tinny to his own ears, sadly lacking in the acerbic quality he'd long prided himself on. He supposed he was simply too tired to manage it.

"Goodbye, Professor," Draco said sharply, brusquely cutting off Lupin, who had appeared on the verge of replying. He took a shaky step forward, his limbs trembling with the effort, followed by another step. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, and he swallowed, hoping to quell the crushing nausea. Nonetheless, he kept walking, stopping every few steps to catch his breath. What the fuck had Voldemort done to him?

A hand caught his elbow and he blinked in dull acceptance as not one, but _two _Lupins danced before him.

"Wh-what?"

"At least let me help you, Draco. Since you insist on being stubborn."

"Help me?" Draco asked petulantly, leaning against Lupin in spite of himself. He closed his eyes briefly, the added support helping more than he cared to admit. "Is that what you were doing back there? Putting who-knows-what spells on me…finishing the job, for all I know…"

"I'm no Healer, Draco, but I'm sure you don't actually believe that," Lupin said wryly. "And I _did_ tell you to stay put…I think you'd feel considerably better if you'd listened to me, let adults do the worrying for a little while."

Draco bristled, pushing away slightly from Lupin. "I'm not a coward, you know."

"No, you're clearly not. But like I said, you've done more than enough. You and Harry both."

They shuffled along in silence for a few moments. Draco wondered where exactly Lupin was leading him, yet found himself almost _trusting_ his former professor. And it did feel good to let an adult take charge for awhile - even if said adult had once suggested that Draco let himself be killed.

He also wondered about Harry. He hadn't wanted Harry to go to Voldemort, of course, but it was extremely strange that he hadn't. If Voldemort had been telling the truth, and he'd had no reason to lie, then what had prevented Harry from coming?

Pushing such troubling thoughts aside for the time being, Draco concentrated on the task at hand - namely, on not collapsing.

*

Harry felt numb as he pulled his head out of Snape's Pensieve. Out of everything he'd just seen - Snape had been friends with Harry's mum? Okay. He'd killed Dumbledore on _his _orders, to save Draco's soul? Okay. And so on. But it all really came down to one thing, something he nearly refused to believe.

"I have to die?" Harry blurted, startling Snape, who had apparently dozed off for a moment. Snape straightened up slightly.

"I take it you're finished?"

Harry gave a sharp laugh, perfectly aware of how hysterical it sounded. "What the hell do you think?"

He had to do it, of course, not matter how much the idea terrified him. What did it feel like, to die? Harry wondered. And would any part of him be left, existing somewhere, or would he simply end? He'd always known Voldemort might beat him, end his life, but the idea had always been in the abstract, always unknown. But now…to think he'd have to march up to Voldemort, knowing he was feeling the wind at his face, the snow crunching under his feet for the last time…did he really have that kind of strength?

Maybe he wasn't a hero where it really counted, maybe he really was just a boy, just….Harry.

"Potter!" Snape said sharply, interrupting Harry's inner turmoil. "Are you listening to me at all?"

Harry shook his head. "Afraid not, Professor. Would you? I mean, if you knew you had to die to save the world…what, am I Jesus now? Or something…I don't know…I just…"

"Potter, you don't have to die," Snape interrupted quietly, sounding nearly soothing.

Harry blinked. "W-What? But Professor Dumbledore…"

"Professor Dumbledore was too arrogant for his own good!" Snape replied curtly. "I won't pretend to understand everything he did, Potter, but I do know he believed you would defeat the Dark Lord, and that you wouldn't die trying."

"How?" Harry snapped, heart beating rapidly in his chest. "How the fuck can I survive if I'm a Horcrux?! Don't you understand? I _have _to die!"

Snape shot him a withering look. "For once in your life, Potter, use your brain! Think! How was your Muggle aunt able to protect you all these years? With gardening tools? It was your mother's blood, you imbecile, _her _sacrifice that saved you."

"I know all that!" Harry yelled. Unable to contain himself any further, he slammed his fist on a shelf, reveling in the shock of pain that shot up his arm.

Face whiter than ever, Snape stood. "And what happened the night the Dark Lord returned, Potter?"

Harry glared. "You know what happened! He killed Cedric Diggory, he tortured me, his Death Eaters - "

"And he used your blood to revive his body!"

Harry froze, his eyes widening, any remaining color draining from his face.

"Your blood," Snape continued, his voice deathly soft. "In which runs your mother's sacrifice. Her protection. Do you understand now? He can't kill you, Potter, because the Dark Lord, unknowingly, made himself your own protection."

"So…" Harry swallowed. He glanced at the floor, mind spinning with Snape's revelation. "Even if he uses the Killing curse on me… it won't…"

Snape nodded curtly. "It will destroy the part of his soul that resides within your body, nothing more. And Potter, you must do it as soon as possible. It won't be long before he realizes that all of his Horcruxes are destroyed."

Harry frowned. "What? There's still Nagini…"

"Destroyed, Potter. And before you ask, there are certain advantages to being Headmaster. The portraits, you see…"

Knees shaking precariously, Harry resisted simply sinking to the floor and sobbing. Relief flooded his brain like a drug and he nearly laughed aloud.

"Why are you smiling?" Snape snapped, gingerly lowering himself back to his chair.

Harry shook his head. "Maybe you don't value people's lives very much, Professor, but I do. Including my own."

Turning to leave, needing to make use of the surge of adrenalin now flooding his veins, Harry paused long enough to hear Snape speak once more. And, for perhaps the first time since Harry had known him, his voice sounded truly sincere.

"I did not mean for anything to happen to Draco," Snape spoke quietly. "You must understand the sacrifices one makes, Potter…"

Harry closed his eyes briefly. "I have to go."

Without turning back, Harry opened the door and left. Heart and mind pounding equally with anxiety and newfound hope, he began running as quickly as he could to find Voldemort. Hopefully, for the last time.

*

"Draco!"

Draco's head snapped up in time to see a great mess of bushy hair, colliding and nearly knocking him off his feet.

"Oh my god!" Hermione shrieked, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Draco grimaced but didn't push her away. A few feet back, Ron nodded at Draco, looking anxious.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked shrilly. She stepped back, still holding Draco's shoulders. "The last thing we knew, Harry said Voldemort had you! And then we lost him along the way, and then we couldn't find either of you!"

"Granger," Draco said loudly. Hermione blinked and closed her mouth, though her eyebrows furrowed even higher in her silent concern.

"You don't know where Harry is?" Draco asked with a sinking feeling.

Ron shook his head. "No, mate. We were hoping he was with you…"

"Professor Lupin?" Hermione glanced up in surprise as she apparently noticed their former instructor's presence for the first time. Draco took a steadying breath and leaned back against the nearest wall.

Lupin offered a tense smile to Ron and Hermione. "I'm sure Harry is fine. But we do need to find him." He glanced at Draco, who scowled slightly in return, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"What is it?" Hermione said, looking questioningly between the two.

Draco shook his head, wrapping his shaking hands around his torso. "Nothing, let's go."

"It's not nothing," Lupin answered gently. "Mr. Malfoy isn't doing his best at the moment, however. So splitting up may be our best option."

"Isn't…?" Frowning, and before Draco could stop her, Hermione cast a quick spell in Draco's direction - one which he recognized by the slight tingling feeling as a medical diagnostic spell. She'd become quite adept at them within the last few months.

Hermione gasped and Ron's eyes widened in alarm. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Draco! What happened? You are not fine!" Hermione placed a hand on Draco's forehead. He promptly swiped it away with an annoyed gesture. He hated feeling weak, especially right now, but that didn't mean everyone had to know about it.

Lupin, on the other hand, seemed to have no problem sharing his business. "Voldemort did have Draco, for a short time. Unfortunately, he is capable of doing considerable damage, no matter that time," he finished darkly.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, thank you for that finely sugar-coated version, _sir_." He looked at Hermione and Ron. "I killed Nagini, though I'm not sure he realizes it, and then I was tortured - as bait for Harry..." He trailed off, the stinging feeling of Harry's continued absence still close to the surface.

Her eyes watery, Hermione nodded. "Ron and I destroyed the Diadem. But… oh, where could Harry be?" she cried, a few tears escaping down her cheeks as she gently examined Draco's left arm. It was shaking worse than ever, still throbbing and twitching of its own accord, but not nearly as bad as only a little while ago.

"Nagini?" Lupin asked, clearly puzzled. "Voldemort's snake? A diadem? What on earth are you three talking about?"

Draco, Ron, and Hermione exchanged quick glances. Hermione shook her head.

"There really isn't time to explain, Professor," Hermione said reluctantly, swiping at her eyes. "Not until we find Harry."

Draco pushed himself off the wall, wincing when the sudden motion caused his stomach to roil and his head to spin. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go find him."

Lupin cleared his throat. "We'll find Harry, Draco. You've really done enough, and you're just going to hurt yourself further-"

"Fuck that," Draco scoffed, glaring at Lupin. "You may have been my teacher once, _Professor_, but you have no authority over me these days."

"Draco." Hermione put a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Don't. Just think about it for a minute - you can barely stand, how much help do you think you'll be if Harry needs it? If he's…hurt or something." Her voice trembled slightly, a fresh wave of tears misting her eyes.

Draco sighed. There was clearly no reasoning with them.

"I'll stay here," he said finally, holding his breath.

Hermione eyed him skeptically. "Will you?"

"Yes!" Draco snapped exasperatedly, feeling some regret over his harsh tone afterwards. After all, they all were just as worried about Harry as he was.

Hermione nodded, the hand on his shoulder clenching tighter. "Okay. We'll find him, Draco, don't worry. I'm sure he's fine - you know Harry, he probably just forgot what he was doing, that's all."

"Would you like someone to stay with you?" Lupin asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

Draco resisted the urge to simply scream at them, although he doubted he had the energy. "I'm fine," he said between clenched teeth. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Really. I'll be right here, just…find Harry. Please."

"We will," Ron nodded, a look of fierce determination on his ruddy face. He nodded at the others. "Come on."

And then they were gone. Draco watched them leave, breathing a sigh of relief. Then, mentally summoning all energy reserves in his body, he went in the opposite direction.

*

Harry walked with as much determination as he could muster - one foot in front of the other. To say he was nervous would be an understatement. This was the moment he had waited for, in some respects, his entire life. He wondered if it would hurt to be hit with the Killing Curse, if he'd receive another scar. He pressed a finger to the familiar lightning bolt, tracing its shape idly.

He had to believe that Draco was okay, otherwise his march to confront Voldemort would be unbearable. He had to be okay, simply had to be. Especially now, when everything was finally falling into place. Images of Draco's face, his haughty expressions and sly smirks danced before his eyes; the way he felt pressed against Harry, surprisingly soft, in spite of his angular frame. And the future…they had so much time left, their whole lives, really. Visions of lazy days spent in bed with Draco, of flying again with Draco, of fucking and kissing and making love - these were the thoughts that kept Harry going, moving inexorably towards his destiny, his birthright.

"Harry!" Draco's voice, as if conjured into being.

Harry's step faltered, his heart racing. Could it be, or was it merely wishful thinking? He turned around slowly, almost afraid it had been his imagination, that he would be greeted by nothing but emptiness and stars - mocking him, as stars are apt to do.

It was Draco. He was pale and shaking slightly, and his arm looked worse than ever, but he was there. He was real and alive. Harry drew in his breath, breaking into a run towards Draco.

"Draco. Draco," he murmured over and over once he'd reached him. He drew him into his arms, taking care not to jostle his left arm. "Draco…" Harry nestled his face against Draco's neck, kissing him there softly.

Draco exhaled sharply, sounding nearly like a sob. "Harry, where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick about you, you bastard."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, running a finger lightly through Draco's hair. "I'll tell you everything later, I swear."

"Tell me now," he demanded, his lips forming into a slight pout.

Harry leaned in and kissed him carefully, holding the back of his head gently. Draco gasped, gripping the back of Harry's neck with his right hand and responding desperately.

Harry ended the kiss reluctantly, leaning his forehead against Draco's for a moment to catch his breath.

"Draco?" Harry murmured, drawing back slightly and looking Draco in the eyes.

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Draco's eyes widened, his lips twitching slightly. "Harry…"

"And I always will. That's what I wanted to tell you earlier. It's stupid that I didn't." He kissed Draco again, chastely this time, then sighed.

Draco was eying him strangely. "Oh my god, this is goodbye, isn't it? Harry, whatever it is you're planning to do, don't! Not everything is your responsibility, remember?"

"Some things are, though."

Draco was pulling out his wand, presumably to stop him, but Harry was faster.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Harry cried, cringing at Draco's look of shock when his wand flew out of his hand and landed in a clump of snow. "Draco…"

Draco was breathing hard, his breath hitching. "Harry, please don't do this…"

Harry swallowed, wishing he could tell Draco everything, but knowing it would only be dangerous for Draco if he knew. He raised his wand.

"I'm sorry, Draco." He paused, gulping. "I do love you."

"I love you, too, Harry, now let's go back to the castle. Granger and Weasley are waiting for us-"

"_Stupify_!" Harry cast the spell with as little force as possible, quickly casting a cushioning charm to catch Draco's fall, followed by a warming charm. He wished he had time to take Draco back to the castle, but knew he didn't…

But there was something he could do, however.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" This time, he thought only of Draco, and the stag burst quickly out of his wand.

"Hermione, Ron, follow my Patronus, please. It will lead you to Draco, he needs your help. I'm fine, don't worry about me."

The stag bounded away, and Harry knelt by Draco and kissed his cheek carefully. He quickly placed his own cloak behind Draco's head to keep it out of the snow, and hoped that Ron and Hermione would hurry. Casting yet another warming spell around Draco, Harry straightened up reluctantly and resumed his walk.


	30. Chapter 30

**Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews! Without further ado…**

"Draco? Draco, what happened?" Hermione's voice, anxious and shrill, drew Draco from his unwilling slumber. He blinked dazedly for a moment. Then he shivered, the comfort of a warming spell giving way to the cold, night air. The warming spell…

"Harry…" With a lurch of familiar panic in his gut, Draco rolled to his side and stumbled awkwardly to his feet. His head spun crazily, but he didn't care.

"Where the fuck did he go?" Draco cried, spinning in a circle, eyes peeled for any sign of Harry. Harry, who was apparently walking willingly to his death… Draco's knees sagged.

"Whoa," Ron said, barely catching Draco's shoulders as he staggered. "'Hermione, I think we should take him back inside."

Draco shrugged him off. He took a step backward, shaking his head wildly. "We have to find Harry!" he yelled. He didn't care that he probably looked like a madman. "Right now!"

"Draco," Hermione's eyes were wide. "Harry sent us a Patronus to come get you. He said he was fine. Just calm down, alright? We - "

"Calm down?" Draco laughed, hysteria bubbling up inside him. "He's going to let himself be fucking killed!"

Hermione gasped. Ron's jaw dropped. "_What_?"

Draco nodded jerkily. He spotted his wand on the ground a few feet away, and picked it up.

"That's why he Stupified me, so I couldn't stop him," he continued. His entire body had begun to shake. "He's giving himself to Voldemort."

"No, he…" Hermione sucked in a shuddering breath. "Harry wouldn't do something like that," she finished weakly, just as a weak sob escaped her lips.

"The fuck he wouldn't," Draco snapped. "He's a stupid, chivalrous, goddamn self-righteous prick who thinks he can save the fucking world..."

"Stop it!" Ron said in a strangled voice. Draco glanced up, finding Ron almost as pale and wide-eyed as himself.

Ron clenched his fists. "We need to find him. We need to stop… whatever it is he's about to do. So just, just stop freaking out, alright? It's not too late… It's not…"

A loud cheer arose from the castle, or perhaps it was merely the relieved sighs of hundreds, but Draco realized immediately the cause of their celebration. All around, Death Eaters, both familiar and not, were moving quickly away, leaving the grounds of Hogwarts once again to its rightful occupants. The battle was ending. Just as Voldemort had promised it would - once Harry had surrendered himself.

Draco sunk to the ground, suddenly very numb. He was vaguely aware of Hermione and Ron embracing, tears and sobs of disbelief exchanged between them. But Draco didn't cry. The frigid wind biting into his skin no longer stung, his arm no longer ached, his head no longer reeled. He thought only of Harry.

*

Only some distance away, Harry fought to keep his mind off Draco. Walking side by side between two Death Eaters, Harry needed his mind in the present, the here and now. Because, despite Snape's reassurances, surviving the coming encounter was by no stretch of the imagination guaranteed.

"Hurry up, Potter," one of the Death Eaters growled, digging his wand sharply into Harry's side. Harry narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

The Killing Curse was not going to be the problem - Harry never thought he'd have _that _thought - but what came after - that was considerably more problematic. Would they check to see if he was dead? Voldemort may have failed in killing him once, but what were the odds of that happening again? Though, fortunately for Harry, they were much better than he ever could've imagined. But if someone did check…

Perhaps he could cast a non-verbal Imperius on whomever placed their fingers on his still-beating pulse. Could you cast Imperius nonverbally?

Harry sighed, wishing achingly for Hermione to be beside him, telling what an idiot he was for putting himself in this situation, and for not having studied enough last year. And for Ron, who would put on a brave face and march beside him. And Draco…

His stomach clenched. Draco would offer scathing insults and angry remarks about Harry. He would be pale, nervous, and slightly shaken. And then he would willingly step in front of any curse thrown Harry's way.

Harry swallowed, closing his eyes briefly against such a thought. That was exactly why he hadn't allowed Draco to follow him into the Forbidden Forest. Time was running out. There simply was no way he could've convinced Draco to follow his plan that quickly.

_Plan?_ Harry scoffed. He quickened his step slightly when the wand dug into his ribs once more.

It didn't take long to reach the clearing where dozens of Death Eaters had amassed, waiting to witness their Dark Lord's ultimate triumph. Harry didn't bother looking around, but he did notice Narcissa Malfoy's sharp face as he walked. It was bloodied and bruised - and much too similar to her son's - following him intently as he came to a halt in the middle of their circle.

Several feet away, Voldemort's mouth curled into a grin.

"Welcome back, Harry," he said softly, raising his wand. "Are you ready to die?"

Harry met Voldemort's gaze steadily - red eyes to green. His mother's eyes, as he'd been told so many times. His mother…

"Yes," Harry said softly, not allowing his voice to waver. He couldn't remember having ever been more terrified. There was a sharp intake of breath - Narcissa Malfoy.

Voldemort laughed coldly. "Spoken like a true Gryffindor, am I right? Are you proud of yourself, Harry? Proud that all of your suffering, all that you've lost and sacrificed, has come to nothing?"

"It hasn't come to nothing," Harry answered calmly, meeting Voldemort's gaze defiantly. "You wouldn't understand."

"I understand this: you're about to die, Harry Potter. You'll cease to exist, remembered only as a failure. In time, of course, you won't be remembered at all. You'll be forgotten, as though you never lived at all. Do you find this distressing in the least?"

Harry swallowed nervously, his heart racing. "No one wants to die, Tom. But we all do."

Voldemort's lip twisted - whether in amusement or cruelty, it was hard to tell. "Not me."

Amazingly, Harry felt like laughing out loud.

"You shattered your soul, Tom. What you have is hardly a life."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed, and he raised his wand higher, towards Harry's chest. "These tedious overtures are beginning to bore me. Goodbye, Harry."

Harry braced himself, stealing a quick glance in Narcissa's direction. Her eyes locked steadfast with his.

_Don't look away…stay with me_, he pleaded with his eyes. And maybe she had heard him, because she gave an almost imperceptible nod, her eyes grave and haunted.

_Thank you_. Then six syllables, as if in slow motion, green light, and the blue of Narcissa Malfoy's eyes as Harry knew no more.

*

Draco felt nothing, nothing at all. He couldn't move, he couldn't think, could barely wrap his paralyzed brain around the reason for his current state. It was something to do with Harry…

Behind him, Ron and Hermione continued to embrace desperately, the coupled sounds of their grief ringing in Draco's ears. The snow beneath his knees had compacted, and Draco wondered what would happen if he simply froze there, became a statue, an ice sculpture. All three of them could freeze, could just stop the moment from ever moving forward. Because Draco didn't want to move forward, not ever again.

A wracking sob finally escaped his lips, and he pounded a fist against the frozen ground. "Fuck you, Harry. Fuck you. I fucking hate you. I truly wish you'd never been born." He sobbed again, dryly, his eyes tear-free.

Then Hermione was inexplicably at his side, collapsing against him and sobbing, her entire body convulsing against his. "Draco, stop. Stop, please. Don't say that," she managed to choke.

Ron sank down beside them, his eyes red. "Look," he said hoarsely. "We don't know anything yet. He might have just captured him again, which means Harry could still be alive. We…we can't give up on him. He wouldn't fucking give up on any of us, and you know it!" Shoulders quivering, he turned away brusquely, a hand covering his eyes.

Draco couldn't look at either of them for long, focusing instead on the sudden commotion that seemed to be milling out from the Forbidden Forest. Death Eaters in masks were swarming about, apparently in high spirits, along with Giants and portions of Greyback's pack. Draco wondered numbly if the three of them needed to move, get out of sight, but found he hardly cared.

No one seemed to be paying them any attention anyway. Draco hadn't noticed, but at some point a crowd had formed around them, opposite the Forbidden Forest. Although it was mainly professors, there were many students as well. Draco recognized Ginny Weasley huddled among them, her face red and swollen.

Flanking the Death Eaters was Voldemort himself. He appeared smug, triumphant.

"We'll be leaving, as promised," Voldemort hissed, his voice clearly amplified. "But first, I've asked our very own Rubeus Hagrid to assist me in a little something. Hagrid, if you will?"

Hagrid lumbered out of the woods, great dollops of tears running down his face. He was cradling something in his hands, holding it gently against his chest.

"Many of you, I'm sure, have put your hopes in a certain self-proclaimed hero. The Boy Who Lived, a magical freak of nature. Harry Potter. Harry, a mere boy, thought he could defeat me, one who has conquered death forever. Today he paid the ultimate price for his foolishness. Hagrid, kindly show our fellow wizards what becomes of silly children who think they can defy me."

Hagrid gave another great sob, then thrust his hands forward.

Harry might have just been asleep, resting in Hagrid's enormous palms. His body was unmarked, although a streak of dirt marred one of his cheeks. He was completely still, which was unlike him, as Draco knew him to toss and turn and twitch in his sleep. He even talked in his sleep sometimes, much to Draco's amusement. Maybe he just needed Draco to shake him awake - he'd told him once before how much better he slept when Draco was there. Maybe the same applied to waking up.

"No!" Ron lurched forward with a choked shout. Hermione made a grab for him, but her hand fell short and she stumbled awkwardly to her knees, sobbing.

Voldemort laughed as Ron was stopped mid-stride by a Death Eater's spell, falling to the ground in an untidy, but still cursing, heap.

"_No_?" Voldemort turned to Hagrid. "Lay Harry down, please. Hurry, hurry! Let us show his undying fans a slight demonstration. Harry Potter's final hurrah." His teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he smiled.

Blinking, barely feeling his fingers as they pushed into the snow, Draco stood. No one paid him any attention as he took a few steps forward. He never took his eyes off Harry.

Great, salty tears splashed unabashedly from Hagrid's eyes, falling to Harry as he was placed gently on the ground. His head lolled limply to the side and came to rest facing Draco.

"Tell me, dear people," Voldemort hissed, eyeing the crowd maliciously. "Who knows how an Inferi is made?"

Several people screamed, many more sobbed, a few rushed forward, clearly intent on rescuing Harry's lifeless body before such desecration could be wreaked upon it. Draco came to a rest several feet from Harry; it was as close as he could get without being stopped. Sitting cross-legged in the snow, he stared blankly forward. He wondered if it hurt to die. Suddenly there was someone beside him, grasping his numb fingers, shaking and crying softly. A bushy head pressed into his chest.

"Draco," Hermione whispered. "Draco, we have to leave. Harry - " her body shuddered with a silent sob, " - Harry wouldn't want us to give up. We have to go. For him."

Draco barely acknowledged her. "There's no point," he said at last, his voice dead. Dead as Harry…

"Don't say that…" Hermione's fingers dug sharply into Draco's wrist. "Draco, we have - "

Nothing prepared Draco for what happened next. His mind, just moments ago his own, was torn into with momentous force, driving through memories and thoughts with no sense of subtlety. Clutching his fingers to his head, Draco squeezed his eyes shut and pushed back against the intruder. And then, quite suddenly, he stopped.

Draco opened his eyes. Barely breathing, he lowered his hands and stared.

_Harry?_

_*_

Death is said to be the deepest, most peaceful sleep of all.

For most of his life, Harry had suffered from nightmares. If not nightmares, simply a restlessness that had never allowed his mind to fully rest, to fully recover and start anew the next day.

For Harry, death was the sleep he'd been waiting for his entire life.

Waking up on the forest floor, the sounds of celebration and jeering laughter all around him, Harry had felt like laughing. There was no pain, no sense of unease, and most of all, a sense of calm he'd never quite felt before. His part of the prophecy was over.

_Neither can live while the other survives_…

Harry had faced his death. Now it was the Dark Lord's turn.

Lying on the ground and listening to Voldemort gloat, Harry wanted nothing more than to jump up, shout out to everyone, and finally end it. But then he heard Hermione's voice, only feet away, whispering to Draco - and he remembered. He remembered he didn't have to do it alone. Not anymore.

And so, with a sense of assurance not there before, Harry mouthed three words.

_Contanimus Tribulus! Legilimens!_

Draco's mind was a stormy mass of pain and anger, seething and brewing, but tightly contained, pushed down by an even greater sense of grief. Having no idea what he was doing, Harry pushed forward. He imagined himself inserted into the chaos, a catalyst to quell the storm. Draco pushed back almost instantly, nearly throwing Harry out. But then he stopped. Sensing it, even if he couldn't see, Harry realized Draco had opened his eyes.

_Harry? _he heard.

Harry resisted the urge to smile, though he knew Draco would know nonetheless.

_I'm here,_ Harry replied.

_I thought you were dead. _Even mentally, Draco's words were accusatory, rife with hurt. Unfortunately, there was little he could do about it at the moment.

_Draco, I need your help. In about five seconds I'm going to reach for my wand and hopefully, kill Voldemort once and for all. But I'm going to need as much of your magic as you can give._

Draco was silent for a moment, although his mind remained loud and tumultuous. Physically, Harry was aware of Voldemort's voice, still boasting arrogantly over his supposed victory. He could still feel Hagrid's tears, falling wetly over him like a summer rain.

_Draco…_

_Take it all. Hurry. _

Fighting the urge to nod agreeably, Harry lurched forward mentally, feeling the linking spell zinging intensely around him as he pulled and siphoned Draco's magic to his end of the link. There was little time for finesse, and though he was as gentle as possible, he hoped desperately that he wasn't leaving Draco a Squib. What would happen to Draco's magic, or to Draco for that matter, if Harry was killed while the linking spell was in effect?

Pushing such troubling thoughts out of his mind, Harry opened his eyes.

*

Crouched down in the snow, Draco could do little more than watch. It was a little bit like being in two places at once - on the one hand, he was aware of himself as a physical being, but it was all too easy to forget. And then there was his magic, currently pulsating on Harry's end of the link. It made him feel lighter, somehow. Weaker. Nonetheless, he concentrated with every ounce of his being towards pushing it _all _to Harry.

Draco was sure he saw Harry's eyes open before anyone else, though it would likely remain a point of argument for years to come. All he knew was that one minute Harry was lying as still as death, and the next his eyes were open wide, and his wand was out, pointed towards Voldemort.

Voldemort's eyes widened, a look of surprise and genuine horror flitting across his nose-less face. "No," he muttered. "Impossible."

Harry straightened to his feet, his wand trained at Voldemort. "Apparently not. _Expelliarmus!_" he shouted hastily, before Voldemort could extend his own wand. The wand flew out of his hand forcefully, landing several yards away.

Voldemort sneered at Harry, his red eyes narrowing maliciously. "Well done, Harry. Well done. Will you be killing me now, Harry? The only thing is, that is something that might prove quite difficult. I can't die, you see."

Peripherally, Draco was aware that many of the Death Eaters had already fled. Those that remained were locked in duels with Order members, or were lying still on the snow. But Draco could only watch Harry, who was currently breathing hard and pacing, his wand hand never wavering.

"You see, that's where you're wrong, Tom. I could go into detail on how we destroyed all your Horcruxes, but that would take way too long. Or I could tell you about how you've been the one protecting me all these years, since you took my blood, my _mother's_ blood, and used it to resurrect yourself. And you know what's really funny? I was the last Horcrux, only I couldn't die because of your protection, Tom. All you did was destroy your own Horcrux, the link between us."

Voldemort was as still as a statue, his inhuman slits of nostrils quivering slightly. Draco could have sworn he saw him blanch.

"You won't kill me, Harry," he said smoothly, his voice a soft hiss. "You're too good, too noble for all that."

Harry swallowed slightly, then straightened his spine, a determined glint in his eyes. "I'd be a horrible person if I _didn't_ kill you, actually."

Voldemort smirked, his wand hand twitching inexplicably. Then Draco saw why - a wand, flying through the air, towards Voldemort's outstretched hand…

"_Harry_!" Draco yelled, forgetting for a moment about the link. "Now, Harry!"

Voldemort's head snapped in Draco's direction, and for a split second his eyes met with Draco's, a look a pure hatred present. Then…

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Harry's voice rang out, confident and determined. Draco felt the link stretching and tugging, and he nearly fell facedown on the snow. But he didn't, because there was no way he could miss seeing Voldemort struck down by the green light he had employed so often himself, seeing the look of shock and surprise on Voldemort's face, frozen forever.

Voldemort fell seemingly in slow motion, followed immediately by triumphant cheers, by exclamations of joy and disbelief. A mob was milling around Harry already, sobbing and embracing him, practically crushing him in their midst.

Draco slumped back into the snow, no longer able to sit up straight.

"Draco?" Hermione's hands supported his shoulders.

His mind was fuzzy and disoriented, caught between his own thoughts and Harry's. The latter was overwhelmed, wishing to escape the dozens of tearful _thank yous _and outstretched hands, yearning to slip quietly away from his now-fulfilled destiny. He needed to talk to Ron and Hermione, and to Draco - explain how sorry he was, and how happy he was.

_Harry…_ Draco's head spun. _Harry, you need to end the link…_

"Hermione! Malfoy!" Ron stumbled to his knees beside them, a purpling bruise already blossoming along the side of his tear-streaked face. He was smiling brilliantly.

"We did it!" he shouted. "Harry's alright and we fucking did it!" And then he was embracing them both, as Hermione didn't move from her post beside Draco.

_How? _Harry's voice, nearly shouting to be heard over the chaos around them. _Are you alright? I'm sorry, I didn't know how else to do it._

Draco smiled slightly. White spots were dancing in front of his eyes. Or perhaps they were just fireflies…

_Just concentrate, _he told Harry. _Feel for your own magic. And then let mine go._

A vaguely panicked feeling stole over Draco. It took him a moment to realize it was Harry he was feeling, and not himself.

_Draco, I can't concentrate with all these people around! What if I do it wrong? What if I kill you?!_

Draco closed his eyes, picturing his incorporeal self, and Harry's. Clearly fighting to focus solely on the link, Harry looked up at him.

Draco took his hand. "I love you, Harry. And I trust you."

"But- "

"Harry. I trust you."

Neither spoke for several seconds, though emotions and words ran rampant through both their minds. Eventually, Harry nodded.

"Okay," he said.

With a gasp, Draco opened his eyes, his real eyes. Hermione and Ron were still draped together, kissing, talking, crying - and all of this, subsequently, on top of him.

"Never in my life," Draco began, aware his voice was rather weak, "did I imagine I'd have to say this. But please, get off me, Weasley."

Ron gave a surprised laugh, sitting back, but not completely separating himself from Hermione. "You alright?" he asked.

"Lovely." Draco glanced up. He couldn't see Harry amidst the mass of bodies anymore.

"You used the linking spell, didn't you? You and Harry." Hermione's eyes were shining as she spoke. "Draco, that was amazing."

Shivering, Draco shook his head. "It was Harry. Not me. I didn't do anything but sit here…"

"Since when did you become so bashful?" Ron raised his eyebrows. Draco scowled slightly, looking away.

Hermione whispered something to Ron, and Ron nodded, getting up a moment later and disappearing into the crowd.

"Draco," Hermione began slowly. "What is it? Did something go wrong with the spell?"

"Underestimating my ideas again, Granger?" Draco snorted softly. "No, it worked perfectly. And Harry ended it perfectly."

Hermione eyed him quietly. "Then what is it? Look, I know you think you're good at hiding your feelings. And most of the time you are..." She squeezed his shoulders. "But not when it comes to Harry."

The sounds of celebration were all but drowned out by the roaring in Draco's ears. How could he explain? How could he express, in words, the conflicting emotions running through him? That the one thing linking him to Harry, their common and irrevocable goal, was now dead and gone?

"Draco?"

He looked up into the concerned green eyes of Harry Potter.

"Hey," Draco whispered, his own eyes prickling with tears. Hermione gently disentangled herself and slipped away, leaving them where they had started seven years before. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Though it was no longer animosity exchanged in their silent gaze.

Harry lowered himself to the ground, eyes never leaving Draco's.

"Hey," he whispered back.

**Don't go anywhere - there's still an epilogue! Thanks to everyone who has ever read and/or reviewed…I hope you've enjoyed it as much as we've enjoyed writing it! **

**Oh, and happy New Year's!**


	31. Chapter 31

**Ah! So this is it, kids. It's been a long, crazy ride, but we've made it. Thanks so much to everyone who has read and enjoyed our little story, added it to favorites, alerts, etc. But especially thanks to the people who took the time to review on a consistent basis. That means so much that I can't even express it. Thank you thank you thank you. **

**Now, the epilogue. It's a little different than the other chapters, but I trust in our readers' intelligence, so that won't be a problem. So, here it is, and enjoy!**

**Epilogue:**

*

_Harry, _

_Yes, I quite understand why you would feel that way. However, expect me to persist in my efforts for some time to come. The Ministry has long been ruled by corruption and hearsay, and more recently, has been nothing more than Voldemort's puppet regime. And while I understand your desire to live an ordinary life for awhile, the fact remains that you've done the extraordinary, and deserve recognition for doing so. The offer still stands, and will remain standing. _

_I, and all of Wizarding society, remain in your debt, Harry. Enjoy your much deserved rest. _

_Respectfully Yours,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Minister of Magic_

_*_

_Potter,_

_Why you persist in writing these letters is beyond me. As if laboring over your atrocious penmanship for six years wasn't punishment enough for all my sins, real and imagined, I now appear to be atoning for some distant past life as well. A simple "thank you" would have sufficed, Potter, and would even have been appreciated. _

_But since you insist, and as I have been lacking in dunderheads to chastise lately…_

_No, I do not wish to discuss Lily Potter with you, ever. Consider that subject closed. Yes, it was my Patronus that led your clueless friends to the Sword of Gryffindor, as well as my letter to Miss Granger which informed her of your whereabouts and hinted at Draco's predicament. I would have thought that was quite apparent. _

_I am not your friend, your mentor, or anyone of significance to you, Potter. Your imagined debt to me is just that: imagined. My actions have been of my own free will, and though they aided you, that was merely happenstance in sharing a common goal. You owe me nothing. _

_If Draco wishes to write me, nothing is preventing him from doing so. As you can personally attest to. _

_I have no desire to visit the werewolf. I can't believe you asked me that. Are you suffering from spell damage, by any chance, Potter? _

_You can visit me if you wish, though I'm baffled as to why you'd want to. However, don't expect the celebrity welcome I'm sure you're used to receiving. Until next time, then. _

_Severus Snape_

_*_

_Harry, _

_What do you mean by "I don't know."? N.E.W.T. scores don't just grow on trees, Harry! What would you do in the meantime, if you don't go back to Hogwarts?????_

_Anyway, things here are about the same. Mum and Dad are starting to remember me again, and it's not pretty. They can remember enough at this point to know that I'm the cause of their current state, and they're quite upset. I understand why they're upset, of course, but it doesn't make it any easier. They'd always said how excited they were to have a witch in the family, but now they're saying that I must think I'm better than them because I can do magic. That is simply NOT TRUE. Oh, I'm tearing up just writing this, it's all so upsetting. _

_I'm very glad Ron is with me, of course. In the little spare time I have, Ron and I enjoy exploring the Wizarding cities here in Australia. They are very similar to ours, but different, more laid back. I've bought several books on Wizarding history, along with some fascinating books on Aboriginal magic. I would have sent you a couple with this letter, but I didn't want to tax the poor owl any more than necessary. You're welcome to read them when I return, if you're interested. _

_How is Draco's arm? I feel so horrible about it, particularly since I'm the main reason he's having such trouble with it. He won't tell me a thing about it, of course, he just insists it's fine, but I don't believe him. So, how is it, really? _

_That's very good of you to write Professor Snape, Harry. I think he's had a very sad life, and I'm glad you've moved past your old grudges. Is he still planning to teach at Hogwarts, do you know? _

_Well, I must be going. Ron insists on taking a trip to the beach today (as if he didn't have enough freckles…but don't ever tell him I said that!) and then he has his heart set on going to a Muggle zoo. I told him I'd rather not see those poor animals forced to live as slaves for our enjoyment, but I ended up giving in as usual. _

_Take care of yourself, Harry, and send Draco my love! We all must do something fun when Ron and I get back…hopefully with my parents in tow. _

_Love Always, _

_Hermione_

_*_

Draco felt Harry's hand tighten in his, and he fought the sudden urge to pull away. It wasn't as though he didn't want Harry there with him, just the opposite, in fact, but a recent observation of Draco's made it harder to accept.

Draco closed his eyes, the frigid January wind numbing his face. When he opened his eyes again, the same letters were still etched into marble:

_Lucius Malfoy_

_1955-1997_

Harry was biting his lip when Draco glanced at him, and Draco gave him a smile meant to be reassuring. Harry smiled back tentatively, his eyes questioning.

"Thank you, Harry," Draco said hoarsely, after a moment. "I told you you didn't have to do this, but…thank you."

Harry nodded resolutely. "He died saving us, Draco. The Minister had _no right_ to deny him a memorial with the others." Harry scowled slightly, as if remembering that particular argument. Draco couldn't help but think that Shacklebolt had had every right to deny Harry's request - Lucius had been a Death Eater, and unapologetic until the last possible moment. He hadn't given his life out of remorse, morality, or concordance with the Light. He'd given it for Draco.

"So you used your vast influence to get what you wanted, right, Potter?" Draco had meant for his tone to be light, but found his teeth grinding in spite of himself.

Harry pulled his hand away, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering. Draco felt a sudden stab of remorse - he'd been absolutely horrible to Harry for the past couple of weeks, ever since his trial, really, and Harry had done nothing whatsoever to deserve it. In fact, that was just the problem. Harry deserved so much better than him, when all was said and done.

Draco shivered as well, swallowing the massive lump in his throat. Crouching on his knees, he gently traced the words on his father's marker with a finger.

"Draco?" Harry said softly, crouching next to him. "Look, have I done something wrong? I just feel like whatever I do lately, you hate me for it. Yeah, I did use my _influence_, as you put it, to do this. Just like I used it to keep you and your mother out of Azkaban. And you know what? I'd do it again, Draco. Even if you tell me tomorrow that you never want to see me again, I'd keep doing it for you."

Draco closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cold stone. _I don't hate you, Harry. _He deliberately didn't look at Harry."Have you ever considered, just maybe, that I _don't_ want you to do that?"

"Why not?"

"Maybe I want to stand on my own for a change. Is that so unbelievable?" He snorted. "You've seen the way people look at us when we're out in public, I _know _you have."

Harry was quiet for a moment, then said emphatically, "Well, maybe I don't give a fuck."

Draco turned to face him. "Yeah, well, you don't have to, Harry. You're the fucking hero, after all. You could ride a hippogriff through Diagon Alley, stark naked while singing Celestina Warbeck, and people would just call you _eccentric_."

Harry blinked, then flushed angrily. "Oh, so I'm doing all this out of charity or something, is that what you're saying? Everything we've been through…you think that means nothing to me?"

"I think that you think it means something," Draco said slowly, looking down and fighting an urge to cry. "We shared a common goal for awhile, but really, what do we have in common beyond that?"

"So…what, then, Draco?" Harry asked sharply, standing to his feet. "What the hell do you want me to do? Should I have just left things alone at your trial, let you go to Azkaban? Do you want me to go to Shacklebolt and tell him, 'hey, it was nice and all, but please disregard everything I've ever said regarding Draco Malfoy. He wants to fight his own battles now, and if those battles lead him to Azkaban, so be it.' Is that what you want?"

"No," Draco said quietly. He shivered again, feeling as though he might be sick.

"Then, what? God, I am sick of this shit! I've tried being patient, which goes completely against my nature, I'll have you know. I've been as understanding as I can be…I have fucking needs too, you know! Ron and Hermione have each other…I thought I had you, the one person in the whole fucking world who might really understand me. I never give more than I'm willing to give, Draco. And if you don't understand that, then fuck you."

Draco closed his eyes again, his breathing hitching.

"Draco?" Harry asked after a moment, crouching beside Draco again. His face was achingly vulnerable, his eyes large and luminous. Draco wanted to kiss him. "Just tell me what you want, okay? Maybe I haven't been as attentive lately…okay, I'm sure I haven't. I've just been stressed…everyone wants something from me, you know? I want to tell all of them to fuck off, but you deserve more than that. So, please, just tell me what you want, and I'll try to give it to you."

Draco found the strength to look Harry in the eyes and tell him he wanted nothing.

Harry drew back as if he'd been slapped. He stood abruptly to his feet and closed his eyes, then nodded after a long moment. "Okay. Fine. Thank you for being honest." He bit his lip, an old and familiar gesture, looking as though he might say something else. Instead, he Disapparated with a loud and resounding _crack_.

Alone, Draco finally let himself cry, curling against his father's memorial headstone and shuddering with sobs. He hurt so fucking bad, as though a Bludger had shattered his chest. He wanted Harry, but was tired of taking and taking while offering nothing in return.

Draco supposed he must have fallen asleep, because he found himself opening his eyes in the dark, his left arm throbbing as it often did at night. Draco gritted his teeth, flexing his fingers in a futile effort to stave off the inevitable tremors. Clutching his arm to his chest, he leaned against the headstone. He was beyond cold, and after a moment pulled himself upright. He needed to go home to Harry, even if Harry never wanted to see him again.

Draco started slightly upon Apparating to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, as he hadn't been expecting to run into Harry so quickly. Draco swallowed, unsure of what to say.

Harry appeared quite calm, all things considered, even smiling at Draco after a moment.

"I'm glad you're back. I was starting to get worried."

Draco swallowed, looking at the floor. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I…I'll just get my things, then. My mother will be more than happy to let me stay with her."

Unexpectedly, Harry pulled him into a hug, not letting go even when Draco tried to pull away.

"You're lucky I love you. Because you're absolutely ridiculous, and certifiably mental to top it off."

It felt good to hold onto Harry, even as he knew he shouldn't. He closed his eyes and leaned into the embrace, reveling in it like a lizard basking in the sun.

"Come on," Harry said, several minutes later. "We haven't had a chance to try out those Nimbus 2001s yet, and tonight looks like the perfect night."

"It's freezing."

Harry snorted. "So?"

So that was how Draco ended up, forty minutes later, swerving and dipping over Muggle London. Beside him, Harry whooped and laughed as he performed his own stunts, obviously not concerned in the least about the prospect of being spotted.

Draco smiled in spite of himself. Somehow, despite the cold wind biting at his face and the burgeoning pain of his arm, he felt strangely liberated. And Harry seemed happy…maybe he just needed to trust that.

Harry exclaimed out loud when they returned home, gripping Draco's wrist before he'd had the chance to pull away. "Draco! Why didn't you tell me your arm was so bad tonight?"

Draco scowled, all the feelings of peace and freedom that he'd experienced during their flight dissipating. He wanted to pull away, but Harry's grip on his wrist, his very proximity, felt too good.

"I'm tired of this," he said finally, wrenching his wrist out of Harry's grasp. "All I do is take from you, Harry. Can't you see that?"

Harry scowled in return. "Is that what all this has been about, Draco?" He snorted. "I figured it was something ridiculous like that."

"So I'm ridiculous?" Draco snapped, glaring at Harry.

"Yes. Extremely."

Draco blinked. "Well, I'm doing you a favor, then. I'm leaving and taking my ridiculous self with me."

"No you're not. I'll even have Kreacher ward the house off so you can't leave."

"You can't keep me here if I don't want to be here, Potter!"

Harry stared at him incredulously. "Draco. Shut up."

Draco sneered. "No."

Harry, incredibly, rolled his eyes. "Okay, then tell me what you meant. How exactly do you take from me?"

Draco felt his sneer, and the controlled anger it offered, slipping away as quickly as it had appeared. In its wake was only Draco, once again on the verge of tears.

"A lot of ways," he said brusquely, turning away from Harry. "You've done everything for me, Harry. You kept Mother and I out of Azkaban. You made sure Father had a memorial, and I know you did it for _me_, not for him. You've made it possible for me to see the best Healers for my arm, and I _know_ they wouldn't have seen me otherwise."

He took a deep breath. "You've never mentioned how much it hurt you when you saw your parents in the graveyard, or any of the horrible things those _Muggles_ that raised you must have put you through. And I know you're not just over those things, but you never bring them up because you're always taking care of me. And like you said earlier, you're stressed beyond belief as it is. And that isn't fair to you, Harry." He took another breath, feeling as though he would hyperventilate. "This witch I ran into in Diagon Alley the other day said I was taking you for all you've got, and, well, she's right."

Harry, when Draco managed to sneak a peak at him, looked positively stricken. "Draco, you can't really think that."

He felt Harry grip his shoulders gently, turning him so that they faced each other. "I mean, come on. You helped me defeat Voldemort. You went through hell _with_ me. You lost your father. And back at the Manor…I would have died without you, Draco. I don't doubt that for a minute. And for some reason you love me."

"It would be hard not to," Draco said shakily.

Harry leaned his forehead against Draco's, cupping his hand behind Draco's neck. "There are things I don't talk about, you're right. But it's not because I don't trust you, or because I feel I need to hold them in. It's because I want to move on, that's all. Nothing more." Draco felt Harry's lips graze against his forehead, and he leaned in closer to Harry, wrapping his arms around him.

"You still have nightmares," Draco said softly, brushing the hair away from Harry's scar.

"And you're always there. See, you don't just take, Draco. Here you are wanting to push me away for my own good, as you thought. You're unselfish to a fault." Harry sighed. "And sometimes I just want to smack you for being such a git, but that's how it is."

Draco kissed him, carefully. "Maybe you should, next time. Who knows, it might help get me in the mood."

Harry smirked. "Like you've ever had trouble with _that_."

They kissed again, and as Harry raised his knee to rub his thigh between Draco's legs, Draco decided he certainly agreed.

"Forgive me?" Draco managed to pant out, knowing that his window of coherent speech was drawing to a close.

"I'll think about it," Harry mumbled against his neck, a smile in his voice which was Draco's undoing.

*

"Can you believe we're finally done?" Hermione asked breathlessly, slumping onto the grass beside Harry and Draco, her books spilling around her. She pushed her hair back, looking extremely frazzled. "Oh, I just _know _I messed up on that Transfiguration essay! And Potions! Oh, it was no good."

Draco smirked, exchanging a knowing glance with Harry.

"This is horrible," Hermione continued to lament. "Now that I think about it, I really should have studied more. Much more. And to think I was so certain I would be accepted into that internship…it was just arrogance on my part, wasn't it? I don't know what I'll do now…"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted, looking slightly annoyed. "I'm sure you did brilliantly. As usual. Now please, let the rest of us - as in me - mull over how terrible we actually were."

"Oh, Harry, don't say that!" Hermione said quickly, appearing to gain some control over herself. She smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure you were fine. Although, like I told you and Ron, a little extra studying never hurt anybody."

Draco smiled wryly and stretched his legs forward, leaning back on his palms and shivering with pleasure as the sun warmed his skin. Around them students were bustling excitedly, enjoying one last day with friends before departing on the Hogwarts Express.

"How about you, Draco?" Hermione asked after a moment. "How do you think you did?"

Draco shrugged, staring at the blue-green waters of the lake. "Definitely better than Weasley. Probably better than Harry. And hopefully better than you, Granger."

"Prat," Harry muttered, unable to suppress a smile. He bumped Draco's shoulder with his.

Hermione frowned, yet her lips twitched slightly. "I'm very proud of Ronald for working so hard to catch up this term…I really wish you'd be nicer to him, Draco."

"What would be the fun in that?" Draco drawled innocently. The truth was, he sort of liked Ron these days. It was just impossible to resist picking on him.

The three sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the soft humming of insects and the lake lapping at the shore. Draco picked absently at some grass blades, his fingers accidentally brushing with Harry's. He didn't move them.

Hermione jumped to her feet suddenly. "Shit! I can't believe I forgot! I'm supposed to meet Ron in Hogsmeade, I was just so stressed by the exams I forgot entirely!" She knelt down, picking up her haphazardly strewn books.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "If it's any consolation, he's probably not finished yet…"

Hermione shot him a dirty look, then rolled her eyes, gathering her books to her chest. "I'll see you two later, I've got to go!"

She darted away, leaving Draco alone with Harry once again. Draco watched her leave, snorting slightly.

"What?" Harry asked.

Draco shook his head, grinning wickedly. "The things those two must get up to when we're not around…they're probably not meeting in Hogsmeade at all. They're probably meeting at one of those novelty sex shops. Your Weasleys have products at their shop, you know. I'm sure they give family discounts."

"Draco. Ugh. I try not to think about it." Harry stretched out onto his back and closed his eyes, his hands clasped behind his head.

Draco stretched out beside him, ignoring every instinct that screamed how lying about in the grass was dirty and common. But he could not bring himself to lay his head in the grass as Harry was doing, so he settled for laying it on Harry's chest.

"Does your scar ever hurt anymore?" Draco asked quietly, after a moment. It was a question he'd been wanting to ask for some time, and wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't.

"Not since we killed Voldemort," Harry answered simply.

"Since _you _killed Voldemort, you mean."

"We," Harry said softly. "I couldn't have done it without you, Draco. I meant that."

Draco nodded, absently tracing over the flat plane of Harry's stomach. "I know."

Harry shivered under his touch, then cleared his throat. "Draco."

"Yes, Harry?" Draco rolled around to face Harry, his chin propped on Harry's chest.

"Were you serious about those Weasley products? I mean, Fred and George have told me before that I can get whatever I want for free…maybe we should check it out."

Draco snorted. "You're a dirty man, Harry Potter. But I like the way your mind works."

Harry just smiled. "I know."

The sun was sinking lower in the sky - in a matter of hours the moon would take its place. And the next day, they would leave Hogwarts forever to face an uncertain future. Perhaps there would be future Dark Lords to vanquish (Draco sincerely hoped not), or perhaps the sky would fall down on them all. But for now…the sun was still shining, Harry was smiling, and as far as he could see, all was well.

*

Murmuring drowsily, blinking against the near darkness of the room, Harry shifted to his side and reached a hand out. It took his fuzzy mind a few moments to realize it was sheets he gripped, and not a warm body, and another to realize Draco was sitting at the foot of their bed, hunched slightly, breathing shallowly.

"Draco?" Harry called in a soft voice. He pushed the blankets away from his chest.

Draco's pale hair swung back and forth as he shook his head, not turning around.

"I'm fine," he replied tightly, equally soft. "Go back to bed."

Ignoring him, Harry sat up and scooted closer, running a hand soothingly up and down Draco's bare back when he was close enough. Draco shivered slightly and leaned toward him.

"It's not that bad," he murmured, resting his head on Harry's shoulder.

Harry nodded, though he didn't believe him. Against Draco's chest, he could see how tensely he held his left arm, how his hand clenched. He also knew, rather than saw, how the damaged nerves within fired and misfired, sending conflicting signals to his brain, how the muscles contracted and squeezed, how it _hurt_.

"This is the first time this week, right?" Harry wrapped his arm around Draco's back. "It must be getting better, then."

Draco made no reply, nor could Harry see his face, but the sudden tensing, and then relaxing, of his muscles said plenty.

"Draco…" Harry sighed exasperatedly. "You're supposed to wake me up. It's not like you ever keep sleeping when I wake up."

Draco snorted. "That's because you, unlike me, can't deal with shit on your own." As if to prove his point, he proceeded to lift his head and hunch further over, cradling his arm even more tightly against his chest.

With a slight roll of his eyes, Harry shifted forward as well.

"No," he said gently, replacing his arm around Draco, "it's because you, unlike me, are a stubborn git who hasn't realized you don't _have _to deal with all this shit on your own."

"Whatever, Harry," Draco muttered. Abruptly, he shuddered bodily, making a soft sound in the back of his throat. Harry's own stomach clenched and he wordlessly wrapped Draco in a full embrace, wishing he could absorb some of his lover's pain for his own.

"What can I do?" he asked quietly. Draco shook his head, leaning and quaking into Harry.

"It's alright," he whispered.

Sometimes Harry wanted to rage, he wanted to shout, to make it known how much he hated the injustice of it all. Why must either of them continue to suffer? After all they had gone through, ripped, torn, and bled both physically and emotionally, why must any of it continue?

They had a balance of sorts, Harry and Draco. Certain nights belonged to one, other nights belonged to the other. On Harry's nights, he would wake sweating, shouting, and crying, sometimes thinking his forehead was on fire, sometimes believing the Dark Lord was attacking his mind. Most often he awoke with a flash of killing green still in his eyes. Beside him, Draco would talk, he'd hold his hand, kiss him, get him aroused; whatever it took to bring Harry back to the present, to show him it had all been worth it, Draco would do.

And then there were Draco's nights.

Ironically, Hermione's inventive spell had caused far more damage than Voldemort's ever had. Hermione didn't know, though she often fixed both Harry and Draco with a suspicious glance whenever she inquired about his arm. Draco intended to keep it that way.

"It it weren't for Hermione and that goddamn spell, or curse, whatever the fuck it was, I never would've made it out of the Manor," Draco had told Harry. Neither of them had to spell out what such a fate would have meant.

More often than not, his arm was perfectly fine. Healers had been able to repair the majority of the damage, on both a magical and physical level, but the sheer longevity of the spell had posed more of a problem.

And so Draco had his own nights. Their roles reversed, Harry became the comforter, the distracter, the one willing to do anything to ease the other's pain.

"Let me see your arm, Draco," Harry said, brushing his fingers over Draco's wrist. After a moment of resistance, Draco reluctantly unfolded and stretched out his shaking limb across Harry's lap.

Harry began with feather-light touches, tracing his fingers in delicate patterns up and down Draco's forearm, telling his nerves there were other sensations to be had than pain. Next, he massaged his thumbs into the aching muscles, still very lightly, all the while watching Draco's face for signs of ease or distress. By the time Harry's fingers reached the base of the Dark Mark, Draco fluttered his eyes shut and let out a small breathy moan. Harry smiled slightly and continued to work.

Some ten, or maybe fifteen, minutes later, Draco's body had slackened with a mixture of relief and sleepiness. Flexing his slightly aching fingers, Harry leaned forward and kissed Draco gently. Within minutes after that, they were both asleep.

Neither of them slept very well. But they were happy.

*

Harry's back arched and a wanton moan escaped his lips as Draco took him in his mouth. Lifting his head for a moment, Draco grinned, then returned to his former activity and swirled his tongue delicately around the head of Harry's cock, reveling in the reactions he, and only he, could raise.

"Draco…" Harry panted, his fists tightening on the sheets. Draco took his cock further in his mouth and Harry's words dissolved into discernable sounds of pleasure.

The art of fucking, as Draco preferred to call it (love-making was simply too Gryffindor), was something both he and Harry had become quite adept at over the past few years. He supposed with no Dark Lords to vanquish their time should be spent doing something productive; and what better past-time than this? _After all_, Draco had decided, _we do need our exercise. _It had been less than a challenge to convince Harry.

Several minutes later, convinced Harry was more than ready to continue, Draco slid slowly up Harry's body, trailing languid kisses and nips along his hips, stomach, and nipples, finally ending at his lips. Their mouths met in a fierce clashing of tongues and teeth. Hot, panting breaths passed between them, reminding Draco of the rather generous helpings of wine they'd consumed with dinner, and he didn't mind. Harry ground his hips upwards and wrapped one leg around Draco's, causing Draco to moan against Harry as their equally engorged cocks rubbed together with a delicious mix of friction and heat.

"_Fuck_." Overcome with sensation, Draco rotated his hips and threw his head back with a gasp.

Harry, of course, was no longer the bashful and somewhat reserved lover of their initial youthful encounters, and responded by wrapping his other leg and flipping them bodily over, landing half on top of Draco, half tangled in the sheets. Draco grinned as he quickly kicked the cumbersome sheets completely off the bed. Harry grinned back.

A moment later, Draco arched slightly as Harry's mouth encircled him and began working slowly up and down. A hand trailed over his skin, first caressing Draco's balls, and then massaging lower. Draco pulled his knees toward his chest, giving Harry better access. He sucked in a breath as one, and then two, slick fingers worked gently in and out of him, accompanied by Harry's skilled mouth, and a short while later he was panting, flushed, and very ready to come.

"Ready?" Harry whispered, raising himself up and resting his hands on Draco's thighs.

Draco nearly groaned at the loss of intimate contact. "Hurry the fuck up, Potter," he growled, quite aware his threat, strained and filled with lust, was not quite as effective as it might have been otherwise. Luckily, as attuned to each other's bodies as they were, Harry needed no further confirmation.

The sensation of Harry entering him, of his throbbing cock sliding forward in one precise movement, or slowly, inch by burning inch, was enough to make Draco half-hard merely by thinking of it. The other way around as well, when Harry was beneath him, vulnerable, needing, and completely trusting. Draco loved these moments. If anything confirmed the validity of their feelings, it was this. Neither Harry nor Draco, and especially Draco, were completely vulnerable, needing, and trusting of anyone - anyone but each other.

Harry's mouth opened in a silent cry and a breathy moan escaped Draco's lips as Harry slid inside of him. He began to thrust leisurely, moving his hips back and forth with a smooth rhythm, angling himself just right after only a moment, eliciting a half-sob, half-cry from Draco. Squeezing his eyes shut, his chest heaving, Draco covered Harry's back with his legs and urged him onwards. He could feel the intoxicating combination of alcohol and endorphins running rampant through his brain now, and he knew that neither of them would last much longer.

Harry moved faster, the sounds of their flesh slapping rhythmically together the only noise in the room aside from their breathing and moans. His hands gripped Draco's thighs tightly, probably tightly enough to leave bruises, but Draco really didn't care. He especially didn't care when Harry reached down between them and began fisting Draco's cock in sync with increasingly forceful thrusts.

"_Harry_…" Draco cried out as he came a moment later, his muscles contracting spastically and clenching around Harry, his cock pulsing hotly and wetly into Harry's still moving hand. Harry made a noise deep in his throat and bucked wildly, riding out Draco's orgasm, and then allowing his own release shortly thereafter.

They both collapsed onto the bed, Harry still inside of him, Draco not minding in the least. Straining his neck upwards, he caught Harry's mouth with his own and kissed him drowsily, the fervent need of before abated. At least for the time being.

Harry rested his head beside Draco's and smiled.

Sated and perfectly content not to ever move again, they fell asleep in each other's embrace.

*

**Boy-Who-Lived Birthday Bash**

By Rita Skeeter

Tuesday evening, a rather inconsequential day unto this point, I was attending to some much needed shopping in Diagon Alley. A few headache potions, tea, a brand-new set of Quick Quotes Quills - an ordinary evening, if any. That is until I ran, quite coincidentally, into Harry Potter and a small but fawning group of his closest friends.

As you are no doubt aware, dear readers, the Boy-Who-Lived was somewhat of an attention seeker in his youth, always delighted to recount the brave, heroic tale of his latest adventure. Young Harry's seeming reluctance to interviews over the past few years, therefore, both baffled and bewildered his adoring public. But worry not, oh adoring fans, last night Mr. Potter was more than willing to share some fascinating, and _highly personal _details.

"Harry!" I called out, delighted to have accidentally run across his path. "Happy Birthday! What have you been up to lately? Slay any more dragons?"

Harry, clearly still in some state of shock from such a traumatic childhood event, carefully averted his eyes.

"Please," Hermione Granger, long-time friend and potential love-interest of Harry, pleaded. "Can't you see talking about those things is painful for him?"

Being the overly empathetic journalist I am, my own eyes brimmed with tears and I quickly changed the subject.

Among Harry's other companions were Fred, George, and Ronald Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and, of course, the enigmatic former Death-Eater, Draco Malfoy. (_My readers should note, the rumors concerning the relationship between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are still unsubstantiated - though, in the wake of this interview, seem somewhat clearer_)

"Draco," I greeted, gracing him with a dazzlingly white smile. "Are you and Harry romantically involved?"

Draco did not smile back, as he was obviously caught off-guard by my forthright inquiry. Instead, acting with the same rashness that, perhaps, once drove him to his father's, and You-Know-Who's side, he grabbed a surprised Harry and proceeded to thoroughly kiss him for several minutes. Embarrassed as I was to witness such an act of supreme intimacy, I forced myself to watch. Ah, the lengths one must go to bring forth the truth.

"Perhaps that answers your question," Draco said afterwards.

Apparently the group was tardy in their destination at that point, and so they began to move away, each waving a joyful farewell to yours truly.

I managed one final question before they were out of earshot.

"Harry, what are your plans for the night?" I called.

Draco, and not Harry, answered. "He's going to go home, get drunk, and fu - "

It was with unfortunate timing that a young child started to wail nearby, and the rest of Mr. Malfoy's comment was rather hard to make out. I, however, have quite delicate hearing, and I believe the continuation was something along the lines of:

" - _fiesta _with me all night long!"

Who knew that the Malfoy heir would have proficiency in Spanish?

Overcome with fond memories of my own youth, only a few years past, I conclude this article. And, hopefully, we will all hear more from Harry Potter very soon.


End file.
